


"that was easy"

by metaleaterz



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Set in the 90s, Workplace, Workplace Relationship, brian is their boss, college age, implied pete wentz, party city pete, the staples fic, they all work at staples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 88,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaleaterz/pseuds/metaleaterz
Summary: “Look, asshole, do you want a job or not?” Mikey interrupts. “You said yourself you were bored. I know you can’t afford cigarettes anymore. Until the millions of jobs you applied for decide to call you back, this is the best you got.”Gerard grimaces.“Besides,” Mikey continues after a beat, “you’d get to hang out with me. And Ray and Frank too, I guess. But at least you wouldn’t be loitering at my job instead of finding something else productive to do.”Gerard looks at Mikey for a moment before groaning and tugging a hand through his hair. “Fine, you win. Brian, can I have an application?”-an au based off of one of frank's tweets where he said he 'worked' at staples (which consisted of '[showing] up high and [laminating] random shit for 6 hours')
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Ray Toro/Mikey Way
Comments: 350
Kudos: 1202





	1. week zero

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so. this is ao3 and twitter user metaleaterz. i literally only have hp fic posted on here. however, i spend nearly every waking minute on twitter dot com being annoying about american rock band my chemical romance. i finally decided to put my talents to good (?) use and write a dumb as fuck fic. this is the only one that's ever gotten finished enough to post.
> 
> some things about this!  
> \- the story takes place over the course of 3 months in the fall/winter of 1999  
> \- gerard and ray are 22, mikey is 19, frank is 18  
> \- there's one chapter per fictional week (13 total) and the povs will rotate  
> \- there may be some background ships, but i'm not going to tag them until i know for sure. if things change, i will adjust the tags!
> 
> thank you for stopping by and i hope you enjoy!! please feel free to hit me up on any of my social media accounts anywhere - i love and appreciate all of you very much!
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

Mikey comes home one autumn afternoon with a red polo shirt in his hand and news for their mom and that’s how Gerard can tell that the Staples ten minutes away has gotten truly desperate.

“How the fuck did you get them to hire you?” Gerard asks when Mikey sits down next to him on the couch later that day, after muting the shitty b-horror movie that he’s seen a million times so that he can actually hear what his brother has to say.

Mikey shrugs. “Who wouldn’t hire me?”

“Starbucks, for one.”

“They wanted me to be too nice.”

“I’m nice,” Gerard says, almost to himself.

“Staples doesn’t really have any staff,” Mikey replies. “I’m sure if the two of you both run out of all your options, you might make each other very happy.” He pats Gerard’s knee in a comfortingly mocking manner and unmutes the tv.

Gerard doesn’t _want_ to work at Staples. However, he’s recently come to the conclusion that he is, in fact, disgustingly broke. It isn't that Gerard spends his money on that many things (art stuff, comic books, music, and cigarettes, mainly) but that fucking eats a hole in your pocket when you’re unemployed and furthering the chasm of your debt deeper and deeper with each passing day. Gerard is twenty-two and will have to start paying back the thousands of dollars that he borrowed to get himself a degree in fucking visual arts – a degree that has yet to land him a job, by the way – fucking imminently. It doesn’t help that the process of finding a job that is actually relevant to what Gerard went to school for seems near goddamn impossible, considering the job market is hell and despite his hopes none of his internships had turned into something more permanent and the positions he’s applied for are taking fucking forever to make a decision on whether or not they want him.

Gerard is looking down a long hallway of hopelessness in terms of his career prospects. At this point, he thinks he would give anything to not have to apply for a minimum wage position helping old people print shit, but things are starting to get pretty fucking grim. Though he is entirely fucking cognizant of his predicament, Gerard – and he’s unsure if he makes this decision based on laziness, a lingering hope that Cartoon fucking Network will finally deign to call him back, or the stubborn part of him that says _I got a college degree I am resistant to the mere idea of working at an office supply store_ – decides to at least wait to apply to Staples.

This resolve lasts for all of two days. He runs out of cigarettes and his mom yells at him for trying to ‘borrow’ some of hers (“It’s not _borrowing_ if you’re not giving it _back_ , Gerard.”) so instead of doing anything productive like cleaning the basement or restructuring his resume or working on his portfolio, Gerard finds himself slouching his way into Staples to find Mikey and complain.

The store is almost hauntingly empty. There’s vague yet mind-numbing music playing faintly on the speakers somewhere high up in the store and the air conditioning is bitingly cold. For the life of him, Gerard can’t figure out why the fuck they even have the air conditioning _on_ , it’s November.

The doors slide shut behind him, and Gerard gets on his tiptoes in an attempt to see as much of the store as he can and locate Mikey, tugging his jacket more tightly closed around his torso as he steps further into the store. Fuck, he thinks it’s colder in here than it was outside.

There’s a weird instance when Gerard has a moment of doubt that there’s a single person working or shopping in this store. He feels like he stepped into another dimension. Granted, it is around six o’clock on a Sunday evening, so he thinks the only people who may be rushing to a Staples at this hour would be the harried mom of a seventh grader who revealed that their book report on _Lord of the Flies_ was due the next morning, but it’s still strange to feel like he’s the only person in existence.

That moment is interrupted when Gerard looks to his left after stepping, somewhat tentatively, far enough into the store to see the checkout area, and notices a kid around Mikey’s age sitting behind the counter on what looks like a stool that was stolen from another section of the store and picking at the chipped black nail polish on his right hand.

Gerard feels a weird, inordinate sense of relief at coming across another human being in this cold as fuck store, and heads over. “Hey,” he begins, and the kid looks up. “Do you work here?”

“Yeah,” he says somewhat flatly, the initial look of fake-customer-service interest fading immediately upon seeing Gerard, as though he can tell that Gerard won’t be demanding any pseudo-respect from the employees of Staples today. The kid pulls his shirt out away from his chest a bit around his nametag, which reads _Frank_ , as if to display it, giving Gerard a wide, insincere smile. He lets go of his shirt and continues, “Are you here to see Brian?”

“What?” Gerard asks. Frank raises his eyebrows. One of them is pierced. “No, actually, I’m here to see Mikey.”

Frank snorts. “Jesus, another one? I’ve been working with Mikey for two days and he’s already had more people coming here to see him than the dicks who used to deal out of the back ever did.”

Gerard blinks. “Wh – he’s my brother,” he manages, and Frank’s eyes widen slightly.

“Oh,” Frank says. He kicks his foot lightly against the bar between the legs of his stool and then hops down. He’s surprisingly short. “He’s training on the copy machines with Ray. I’ll take you.”

Gerard follows Frank through the store towards a section labeled _Print and Marketing Services_. Frank does not shut the fuck up the entire time that they’re walking. “I’m supposed to be working back here,” he tells Gerard over his shoulder, swiping a finger along one of the shelves. “I got stuck up front today because Brian said he needed _someone_ up there. I don’t know, they’re filling out the staff again, normally nights are slow, so they don’t need that many people, and I guess Brian thought today would be fine with just the three of us. Apparently he didn’t remember that Mikey’s fucking _training_ and so it’s basically just _two_ , plus Mikey’s supposed to be in PMS with me, anyway.”

“PMS?” Gerard asks. Frank turns around to walk backwards so he can look at Gerard.

“Man, the jokes get old, you know.” Frank grins then, and Gerard points at him vaguely. “What?”

“Are you even allowed to have piercings in, dude?”

Frank shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out. Brian hasn’t said anything yet. HEY!” he shouts suddenly as they approach the PMS section, causing Gerard to jump and for two heads, both with extremely distinctive hair, to snap up behind the counter ahead.

“What the fuck, Frank,” says a person that Gerard recognizes as Ray Toro.

“Oh my god, hey,” Gerard says. “Ray Toro!”

Ray focuses on him then, a huge smile forming on his face. “Gerard Way!”

“Dude, your name is _Gerard_?” Frank asks. “That’s rough.”

“I don’t think you have room to talk, _Frank_.” They reach the counter just as Mikey presses a button on one of the giant machines behind the counter and it starts churning out copies of something upside-down and backwards that Gerard can’t read from his current position. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mikey replies. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t I come and see my favorite brother in his place of business?” Gerard asks, putting a hand to his chest as though he’s been deeply offended.

Mikey rolls his eyes. He doesn’t say _I’m your only brother_ , despite Gerard setting it up for him, which Gerard finds slightly inconsiderate, but he brushes past it. “No, you can’t,” Mikey says. “Not without a reason.”

“Fine. The reason is that I was bored. Also, Mom yelled at me and I’m out of cigarettes.”

Mikey looks at Gerard flatly and lies, “I don’t smoke.”

“I do,” Frank interjects. Behind the counter, Ray lets out a little _ha!_ of a laugh, which Gerard doesn’t understand, but Frank evidently does, because he cuts Ray a glare. “You can bum some of mine,” Frank continues.

“Oh, thanks,” Gerard replies, scuffing his foot against the floor.

Then there’s the dinging of the electronic bell rigged to go off when the front door slides open, and Frank says, “Shit, I’ll be back,” and starts to head back to the front of the store.

“Have fun,” Gerard calls after him. Frank flips him off without looking back.

When Gerard turns back to Mikey and Ray, Mikey is giving him a weird look.

“What?” Gerard asks.

Mikey doesn’t answer. Ray does that little laugh again and shakes his head, turning back to the copy machine to grab the stack of printed pages out of it. Now that Ray’s straightening out the papers, Gerard can see that they’re flyers, most likely to go on the windows of the stores in the shopping center. They read, _Staples: WE’RE HIRING! Please come work for us. Reasonable pay. Flexible hours. Ask for Brian._

“Who wrote that?” Gerard asks, grabbing one of the flyers from Ray’s stack. “God, it’s horrible.”

“Pretty sure Brian typed this up on his computer’s word processor about two minutes ago,” Ray replies. “His excuse for making me make copies of it was that _it’ll be good practice for Mikey_ , even though this is the least complicated flyer I’ve ever seen and could’ve just come out of the back office printer.”

Gerard would agree with that sentiment. The paper literally has about four lines of text in Times New Roman. There isn't even a contact number on there, or an address of which Staples is hiring. “This sucks, no one’s gonna apply based on that.”

“Wow, thanks,” comes a new voice, and Gerard turns to see another guy standing there, arms crossed. Gerard can’t see anything aside from his truly impressive sideburns. “Do you want to do better?”

“I mean, yeah, it’s an office supply store, I probably could,” Gerard replies. Mikey lets out a long-suffering sigh at that, but Gerard ignores him. “I’m assuming you’re Brian.”

Brian looks between Gerard and Mikey, seeming to note their clear familial ties, and replies, “Yeah. You must be Gerard, Mikey said I should expect you.”

“Did he,” Gerard answers, looking over at Mikey, who shrugs, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a little smile. “How considerate of him.”

“Look, asshole, do you want a job or not?” Mikey interrupts. “You said yourself you were bored. I know you can’t afford cigarettes anymore. Until the millions of jobs you applied for decide to call you back, this is the best you got.”

Gerard grimaces.

“Besides,” Mikey continues after a beat, “you’d get to hang out with me. And Ray and Frank too, I guess. But at least you wouldn’t be loitering at my job instead of finding something else productive to do.”

Gerard looks at Mikey for a moment before groaning and tugging a hand through his hair. “Fine, you win. Brian, can I have an application?”

Much like Mikey two days previously, Gerard comes home that autumn evening with a red polo shirt in his hand and news for his mom and that’s how he can confirm that both he and the Staples ten minutes away have gotten truly desperate.


	2. week one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! welcome back to another round of The Staples Fic. first of all, i just want to say thank you to everyone here who's left kudos or comments, as well as everyone on twitter who's let me know their thoughts and has told me they liked it! this has been so so so encouraging and i'm really happy that you guys have liked what i've put out!!!
> 
> very very very special thank you to miss Your Type Of Metal aka projektgerard on twitter aka a SICK beta reader and idea haver. you have so many amazing ideas and have encouraged and helped me to brainstorm so much!!! my single brain cell is working so hard and it is all thanks to you!!! <3
> 
> this chapter ended up being long as FUCK. i don't know why. if this is the trend for the chapter lengths for the entirety of this fic, we might be in for a shitload of words. who knows!!!!! but i am having fun and really liking writing this so far.
> 
> thank you for all your encouragement and kind words!! as always please feel free to reach out to me anywhere if you would like to talk about the fic or anything at all - i would love to hear from you!
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

It’s Monday afternoon, and Frank is late for work.

He doesn’t think this is exactly a good look for his third day _ever_ , but he has an excuse. It isn't the _truth_ , but he at least prepared one.

“You’re late,” Brian calls as Frank skips through the aisles to the PMS section after hastily pulling into the lot outside and doing a truly shit job at parking. “What gives, I thought you said you had a free period at the end of the day.”

“Yeah, _normally_ ,” Frank replies. He hops up onto the counter of PMS, lifting his legs and swinging them over the barrier rather than taking an extra five steps to actually walk through. Brian raises his eyebrows but doesn’t reprimand him, which Frank is choosing to take as an indicator for how the rest of this conversation is going to go. “I got in trouble at school, I had to stay late.”

“Are you going to elaborate on exactly what happened?” Brian asks.

Frank hadn’t gotten in trouble. He’d left school after his last class that day and had gone to smoke in his car in a gas station parking lot. He had stolen the story about getting in the shit from Hambone, who _had_ fucked up, which had cancelled band practice. Unfortunately, Hambone hadn’t told Frank what happened either, so it’s up to Frank’s imagination to fill in the gaps.

“No,” Frank replies, instead of coming up with something truly awful, and Brian sighs heavily.

“Fine. You’re here before Mikey, anyway. Gerard’s on the front end today, probably with Ray, since he seems to be the only one of you to actually retain the training that I give you.”

“Okay.” Frank gives Brian a sunny grin. “Thank you for this wonderful opportunity of letting me work at the Staples corporation, Brian.”

Brian waves a dismissive, exasperated hand at Frank. “Save the bullshit for the customers, Iero.”

Ray’s stuck across the store helping some old lady find a replacement for her printer, and there aren’t any orders for Frank to fill at the moment – not like Frank would do them without Mikey, either, he sure as shit doesn’t want to do all the work by himself – so Frank entertains himself by making faces at Ray from his counter while the old lady’s back is turned. He’s remarkably successful at catching Ray’s eye and keeps a mental tally of the number of times Ray has to disguise a laugh as a cough (currently, it’s at seven).

Fifteen minutes later, the doors open, and Frank stands up on the bar of his stool behind the counter to see Mikey coming in, closely followed by Gerard, who’s looking distinctly disgruntled about the red polo shirt. He keeps touching his stupid, messy, too-long hair and saying something to Mikey that Frank can’t figure out, but that Mikey is evidently tired of hearing.

By the time they approach and Frank has sat back down on his stool, he can hear Mikey saying, “Well, if you think it looks stupid, you should’ve worn a shirt under it or something. The rest of us did.”

“I didn’t,” Ray says, walking over from the other side of the store. “Hey Mikey, Gerard.”

“Where’s my ‘hey’?” Frank demands. He flicks a pen cap at Ray, who bats it out of the air.

“Hey, Frank,” Ray says, but it sounds much more resigned than it did when he said it to their coworkers. “Fuck you for making me laugh. That lady kept asking me if I was contagious. She almost left.”

Gerard is looking over to the front of the store. He frowns, then says, “Does someone need to check her out?”

“Shit,” Ray mutters, and starts to head over to the front. After a moment, he doubles back and grabs Gerard’s wrist, pulling him along and saying, “Come on, I’ll show you how it works.”

As they leave, Mikey reaches over the counter and drops his bag on the other side of it, then moves to take the same course as Frank did in swinging himself over the top rather than walking through the opening.

“So,” Mikey says after he hops down from the counter inside the PMS section. He looks as though he was going to say something different before he stops, squints, and asks, “Are you high?”

“What?” Frank asks. “No.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “You could’ve at least shared.”

“Dude, it was an hour and a half ago, meet me at my school next time and we can pass the joint back and forth under the bleachers if you wanna share that badly.”

Mikey snorts but doesn’t reply further.

The next few hours are fairly uneventful. About two hours into Frank’s shift, Brian, who evidently forgot that he’d intended to have the flyers from yesterday put up on the windows of the nearby stores, asks Frank to go and do it since _apparently_ they only need one person in PMS while the store is so slow.

“Oh, and take Gerard with you,” Brian adds, starting to walk away. “He should probably meet the neighbors.”

“ _I_ barely know the neighbors,” Frank says under his breath, but hops over the counter to go and find Gerard anyway.

“Hey,” he says, walking up to the front, where Ray is sitting on the counter and watching Gerard go through a fake transaction. “Brian wants me to take you around to the other stores so we can bother them into letting us put shitty flyers in their windows.”

Gerard looks up. “Me or Ray?”

Ray shakes his head, grinning. “No offense, dude, but you’re not exactly ready to be here by yourself, so I’m guessing it’s not me.”

“Fair enough.” Gerard steps away from the register and reaches below the counter to grab his jacket. “Where to?”

Frank hands Gerard the stack of flyers. “You’re new. You get to carry them. Also, we’re going to Party City, Subway, Dunkin, and the nail salon. We’re not going to Guitar Center, because they wouldn’t hire me and I’m still mad about it.”

They head out of the store, Gerard not watching where he’s walking because he’s looking down at the flyers, to the point that Frank has to grab his elbow and pull him away from a standing display of notebooks that he’s about to crash into.

“Thanks,” Gerard says. “Shit, Brian didn’t change anything about these.”

“I’m not surprised. If he said he was going to –”

“He didn’t.” Gerard blinks rapidly as they step outside. It’s drizzling lightly, and he looks up at the sky. “Fuck, it’s in my eye.”

Frank laughs. “Why’d you do that, you knew that was gonna happen.”

Gerard shrugs, but he’s smiling. He looks down, rubbing his eyes; his already smudged eyeliner gets even more messy, but Frank doesn’t say anything. “I like the rain. Where’s our first stop?”

Frank thinks Gerard may have the worst sense of direction on the planet if he can’t figure out that if they turn to the right and walk about twenty feet, they’re going to be on Subway’s front step, but he just jerks his head in the direction they’re going and leads the way.

The Subway and Dunkin managers barely look at them twice when they go in to ask if they can put up flyers in their windows. Frank makes Gerard do the talking both times, not because he’s particularly against it, but more because Gerard gives him a look of extreme resentfulness before having to ask for window permission.

“I hate you,” Gerard says under his breath as they walk into the nail salon. “This one is going to be _worse_ , she looks mean.”

“That’s a problem for you,” Frank replies cheerfully. The girl at the front counter does, in fact, look mean, but Frank has no intention of talking to her. “Go on, ask her.”

Gerard sighs, far more dramatically than Frank thinks is necessary, and says, “Hi, I work at Staples and we’re super understaffed. My manager wants to know if we can put flyers in your window so that people come and apply.”

The girl looks up from her magazine and her eyes flick from Gerard to Frank and back again. “Is _he_ your manager? He looks like he’s twelve.”

“No,” Gerard begins, “He’s –”

“I’m eighteen,” Frank interrupts.

“Congratulations,” she replies. She looks back to Gerard. “Let me go ask my boss. You can sit down or something if you want.”

After she walks away, Frank throws himself down in one of the chairs by the front windows while Gerard peruses the bottles of nail polish in a rack on the wall. “So, it wasn’t just a problem for me, was it?” Gerard asks smugly, looking down to where Frank is sitting with his arms crossed.

“Shut up.”

“I told you she looked mean.”

“Fine, I’ll do the next one, are you happy?”

Gerard gives Frank a shit-eating grin. “Ecstatic,” he replies, and sits down next to Frank until the counter girl comes back.

It isn't long before she returns with an affirmative and, after taping one of their shitty little flyers to the inside of the door, they’re headed off to Party City.

On the way, Frank confesses, “Look, I was actually going to do this one anyway. These are the only ones of the ‘neighbors’, as Brian likes to call them, that I actually know.”

“Oh, so now the truth comes out,” Gerard replies dryly. “You just wanted to make me do the uncomfortable shit.”

“Hey, you’re the newbie, I have seniority over you.”

Gerard snorts. “Yeah, by like three days. Mikey told me you were hired the same day as him.”

“So?” Frank grabs the handle of the door and swings it open, letting Gerard walk through first. Fuck it, he’s polite, what about it? “Both of us were still hired before you.”

“You’re still in high school,” Gerard says, somewhat loftily.

“Is that the best insult you could come up with?”

“Do I even need to say more?”

Frank opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted by a motion-activated Halloween witch on extreme clearance cackling loudly to his left.

“ _She_ thought it was funny,” Gerard says seriously.

Frank rolls his eyes and looks over to the counter. “Pete! Where are you, I’m here to bother you.”

Pete’s head pops out from below the counter. “Frank,” he says, in a serious tone that’s completely undermined by the clear pitch change from sucking down helium. “What brings you to our fine establishment today?”

Frank doesn’t reply for a moment, waiting until Pete brings the orange balloon in his hand to his mouth for another inhale before saying, “Mikey sent me,” causing Pete to choke on his breath.

“He _what_?” Pete wheezes, having to lean on the counter for a minute to catch his breath between coughs. “Jesus Christ,” he says, voice returning to its normal pitch. “Really? He did? What did he say?”

Gerard lets out a little huff of laughter next to Frank. “Oh, so this is what you meant when you said people were coming to see him.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, he’s not the only one,” Frank replies, grimacing. “And Mikey said nothing, Pete, I lied, I just thought it would be funny to see you lose your shit.”

Pete looks hurt for a moment, but he apparently brushes off that feeling fairly quickly, because just a moment later he’s saying, “So, if you’re not here to bring me news of Mikey Way, what _are_ you here to talk about? And who’s this?” He gestures vaguely in Gerard’s direction with the hand still holding the balloon.

“I, uh, I’m Mikey’s older brother. Gerard,” Gerard supplies. Pete looks uncomfortable, and Gerard continues, “No, it’s cool, I knew about… this.”

Frank doesn’t know what Gerard means by _this_ – Mikey being into guys, Mikey being a slut, Pete specifically, or a combination of all three – but both Gerard and Pete seem to be fine with stopping that part of the conversation there. Frank clears his throat, then steps forward and hands Pete their remaining flyers.

“Brian wanted to know if you could put those in the window. We need people.”

Pete reads over the flyer. “This sucks.”

“Dude, I know, that’s what I said!” Gerard replies.

“I’ll put it in the window, but fuck, I don’t know how much traffic you’re gonna get from it.”

“Maybe Brian will actually listen to us if absolutely nothing comes of it then,” Frank says. “See you around, Pete.”

Pete waves to them as they leave the store, and Gerard, hands in the pockets of his jacket, elbows Frank lightly on their way out. “Listen to _us_? Where did _you_ contribute to advising Brian in the ways of flyer design?”

“You’re so fucking irritating,” Frank replies lightly, shoving Gerard back. They start to walk across the parking lot back towards Staples, which looms in the distance, looking foreboding and cold and rather like a prison. “You know, we’ve only been gone for like. Ten minutes.”

“Yeah, so what?” Gerard replies. “How long was it supposed to take?”

Frank shrugs. “I dunno. I doubt Brian would even bat an eye if we were gone for an hour.”

Gerard looks up at the sky. It’s stopped raining. “Okay. Spit it out, what is it?”

“I don’t want to go back yet. Do you wanna go smoke?”

After a moment, Gerard replies, “Fuck it. Sure. Why not?”

It takes them an hour to get back to Staples.

***

It’s Wednesday afternoon, and Frank is getting paid to sit on his ass and watch Mikey do all the work.

“So.”

“So?”

“So, I have a gig this weekend,” Frank says. Mikey barely looks up from the laminator. “This weekend as in on Friday. Two days from now. It’s Wednesday today.”

“Good for you. I know what day of the week it is, by the way, but thanks for taking me back to fucking preschool.”

“Fuck, Mikey, I thought you’d be at least a _little_ more excited.”

“Why would I be excited that _you_ have a gig this weekend? It’s not like you invited me.” And Mikey looks up and meets Frank’s eyes with the flattest expression that Frank thinks he’s ever seen on someone’s face.

He feels stupid. “I was getting to that.”

“Clearly.”

“Do you want to come to my gig?”

Mikey sighs. “Do I have to pay?”

“Yeah, we’re broke. I mean, I can give you a Pencey shirt for free, if you want.”

Shrugging, Mikey says, “I guess that works.” He stops. The corner of his mouth twitches upward a little, and he continues, “Do you want me to ask Gerard if he wants to come, too?”

“What?”

Mikey sighs again, much more gustily this time, then says, “Frank, just – okay. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not going to tell you.”

Frank has no idea what the fuck Mikey’s talking about. “He can come if he wants to. He’s cool. I like him.”

Mikey hums at that but doesn’t say anything further.

To Frank’s annoyance, Mikey takes the whole _not saying anything further_ deal to an extreme level and is silent for the following hour and a half. Frank is about to lose his fucking mind with boredom.

Finally, after running out of things to do to amuse himself behind the PMS counter, Frank clambers over the top of it, leaving a shoe print on the stark white that Mikey doesn’t bother to clean as Frank leaves, heading off in search of any of their other coworkers.

Ray, as always, is consumed in helping some old person replace yet another of their ancient pieces of technology – Frank is pretty sure Ray is responsible for every single sale that’s ever been made in this godforsaken store – so Frank wanders up to the front end, where Gerard is sitting behind the counter, looking just as bored as Frank feels.

“Hey,” he says as he approaches, grabbing onto one of the little poles that are supposed to structure the maze-like line in the unlikely event that there are a million people trying to check out at the same time and letting it hold his weight as he rounds the corner, spinning in the direction he could’ve just walked but pinned in a pivot by the pole. “Having fun?”

“Oh, always,” Gerard replies dryly. He has a book face down on the counter so Frank can’t see what the title is, but it looks like he’s almost done with it. Gerard reaches up and rubs a hand over his face, scrubbing at his eyes in a haphazard way that tells Frank that Gerard forgets that he wears eye makeup every single day, judging from the increasingly hazy black smudge that’s gathering under his eyes.

“Me too,” Frank replies. He lets go of the pole and bounces over to Gerard’s counter. “I’m super busy and very occupied and that’s exactly why I’m over here looking for something to do.”

Gerard snorts. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt under his Staples polo today, but he keeps having to brush his stupid long hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“So,” Frank begins, and there’s a weird pit in his stomach. He isn't sure why. “I was talking to Mikey, and –”

“ _Frank to PMS_ ,” comes a crackly version of Mikey’s voice over the loudspeaker. “ _Like, now._ ”

“Speak of the devil,” Gerard says, amused.

Frank blows out a long huff of exasperated breath, complaining, “I _just_ walked over here!”

Gerard laughs, picking up his book again. It’s got some sort of fantasy-esque scene on the cover, but it’s so beat up that Frank cannot tell what it’s even meant to be depicting. “It’s cool, I think we’re all doing lunch together at Subway later. At least, that’s what Ray said. Anyway, you can tell me then.”

Frank sighs. “I _guess_ ,” he replies, as melodramatically as he can muster, and stomps away to go and help Mikey.

It turns out that Mikey doesn’t need any help at all, he was just being annoying. There’s a girl there with blue hair and a handmade, collage poster for some sort of show she has coming up. She’s talking to Mikey about it with some enthusiasm, and he nods.

“Sounds like a time,” Mikey says, completely stoically.

Frank snorts. Mikey never said it sounds like a _good_ time, just a _time_ , but the girl blushes like he’d just proposed to her. She’s standing directly in front of the spot where Frank would spin over the counter, so he’s forced to trudge to the opening in the counter like some sort of trained circus animal.

“Yeah, it sure does,” Frank interrupts, rather rudely, but fuck it, he’s annoyed that Mikey made him walk all the way back here. Staples is a big store. “What is it that you needed me for, Michael?”

Mikey’s expression becomes somehow flatter upon the use of his full name, and he hands the poster to Frank. “She needs color copies. Like… how many did you say, again?” Mikey asks, leaning closer to the girl to ask her.

“Oh, um, like fifteen?” she says.

Mikey leans away from her, back so that he’s standing straight again as though to more properly convey the information to Frank. “Fifteen,” he repeats.

Frank stares at Mikey for a moment. “Thank you,” he says dryly, before opening the top of the copy machine and punching the buttons, somewhat more aggressively than he would ordinarily.

This isn't the first time Frank has been around when Mikey’s trying to pull, and it sure as fuck won’t be the last. Hell, if Mikey comes to Frank’s gig on Friday, he’ll probably see it again. They’ve known each other for a while now, and Frank has come to expect this. There’s something about Mikey that just makes people lose their shit; he has yet to pinpoint exactly what it is, but holy fuck, is it noticeable. Ordinarily, Frank isn't bothered by being a wingman or a prop to help Mikey out with his shit – not that Mikey ever really _needs_ help – but there’s something about it today that’s really making him grind his teeth.

Frank is fully aware that the reason he’s grinding his teeth over this is because he’d had to come back from the front of the store just to help Mikey with something that he didn’t even need help with. Frank had been about to ask Gerard if he wanted to come to his show on Friday, and it’s not like that was _important_ or _pressing_ or _nerve-wracking_ in any way, but Frank thinks it probably would’ve been cooler if he hadn’t been interrupted.

Mikey gets the girl’s number on a sticky note and says he’ll come to her gig if she goes to _my friend Frankie’s_ , with a point in Frank’s general direction, and Frank, who has nothing against this girl personally, just an annoyance at Mikey in this moment, grudgingly writes down the information for Pencey’s Friday night show for her.

Later, at Subway, three out of four of the minimum wage Staples crew are crammed around a tiny table with their elbows knocking together and the corners of their sandwich papers overlapping in a green-and-yellow mess. Gerard drew the short straw earlier and had had to go to Dunkin to get their coffees (“I’m gonna be up all night, it’s fucking seven p.m.,” Ray had said ruefully before handing Gerard some crumpled cash) and has yet to return.

“So,” Frank says, somewhat casually, for what feels like the millionth time today. “You called me over to PMS when _nothing_ was happening just so that you didn’t have to stop talking to some girl.”

Mikey shrugs. Ray looks up from his sandwich interestedly.

“When was this?” Ray asks. “Honestly, Mikey, how the fuck do you do that?”

“I don’t do anything special, it just happens.”

The bell at the door jingles then, and Gerard walks through, backwards, pushing the door open with his shoulder. He has a drink carrier in one of his hands and a box of something in the other. Frank frowns.

“What’s with the box?” he asks.

Gerard sits down in the seat next to him, across from Mikey and diagonal to Ray. “Donuts. The guy at the register gave them to me. He said they were going to get thrown out if _someone_ didn’t take them. Apparently, they’re a day old or something.”

Mikey snatches the box from where Gerard sets it precariously down in the center of the table and peers inside it. He sniffs delicately at the donuts, then closes the box. “Bullshit. These aren’t a day old.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Oh, I forgot, Mikey Way and his unparalleled sense of smell. Not to mention his extremely expansive knowledge of donuts and their staleness.”

Mikey gives Gerard a look that would be a glare if he bothered to put a touch more intensity into it. “I fucking poked one, you moron, they’re soft.”

“Oh.”

Frank reaches into the box and grabs a donut. They look good to him. “I bet the Dunkin people just thought you were pretty.”

Gerard, in the middle of unwrapping his sandwich, stops to laugh. “Shut up, they don’t even know me.”

Ray snorts. “I dunno, man, I went in there the other day to get a coffee and the girl at the counter saw my shirt and asked when _the cute one_ was working next.”

Frank inches his hand across the table, trying to steal one of the cucumber slices that had fallen out of Ray’s sandwich. “Did you tell her I’d be working on Wednesday?”

Ray smacks the back of Frank’s hand and he hastily withdraws it. Mikey kicks him under the table. Gerard laughs.

“No,” Ray replies, picking up the cucumber slice and deliberately biting it, looking directly at Frank, who narrows his eyes, as he does. “She asked for the _cute_ one. If she wanted Mikey, she’d ask for the tall one, and if she wanted you, she’d ask for the short one. I know she didn’t want me because she didn’t ask me _directly_.”

“You’re so smart,” Mikey says. Oddly enough, there isn’t a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He reaches to steal a different one of Ray’s cucumbers that had fallen out of his sandwich.

Mikey doesn’t get smacked. Frank is seething.

“Thanks,” Ray replies lightly. “Anyway, I told her that we were having a sale on spiral notebooks if she needed any for school and that maybe she should just come in and see if the cute one was there.”

Gerard looks bewildered. “No one came to talk to me.”

“You’re dumb,” Mikey says. “If she came, obviously she didn’t _say_ anything, because if she did you’d be like _oh, Mikey, what did that mean when she said she hoped to see me around_ and I’d have to be your middleman for the next however the fuck long it would take for you to learn how to talk to a girl.”

Gerard blushes deeply but doesn’t reply.

Frank wants to change the subject.

“I have a gig on Friday,” he announces.

“This again,” Mikey sighs, and pulls out his phone.

Frank flips him off. He doesn’t think that Mikey sees, but then Mikey returns the gesture and Frank feels a little less triumphant about his physical insult.

“I’m gonna uninvite you,” Frank tells Mikey, with as much venom as he can muster.

“Good luck surviving until your next show without the eight bucks I was gonna pay to get in.”

Frank kicks at Mikey under the table.

“Ow!” Ray says sharply. “Frank, your aim is _shit_.”

“Fuck, sorry, Ray,” Frank replies, wincing. “ _You’re_ invited to the show, I want you to come. You too, Gerard.”

Ray bends down to rub at his leg under the table, frowning. After a beat, as though he had been pretending to think about it, he says, “Fine. I’ll come. Maybe my presence will get you guys up to double digits.”

Grinning, Frank says, “Aw, fuck you, too, Toro.” Ray smiles brightly back at him.

“I’m coming too, even if I’m uninvited,” Mikey announces after snapping his phone shut and sticking it back in his pocket. “It’s not that you _need_ the ego boost of people coming to see your band, but you know. Support.” Mikey waves his hands a little in the air in a sort of shitty little jazz hands motion as though to emphasize how good of a friend he’s being.

“Gerard?” Frank asks, turning to look to his right.

“Yeah, sure,” Gerard replies, somewhat hesitantly. “I mean, maybe. I might be busy.”

Mikey laughs at that, at a volume that’s almost shockingly loud for him. Gerard throws a straw wrapper at his brother and doesn’t elaborate.

Frank doesn’t ask.

***

It’s Friday night, and the gig was good. A fair amount of kids showed up and the energy was high and Frank is happy with how they played. He’s happy with the whole night.

For the most part. Included in the _fair amount of kids_ were Ray and Mikey. Gerard didn’t come.

When Frank had asked Mikey why, Mikey had shrugged and said, “I don’t know, man. Getting him to go anywhere is like pulling teeth. Maybe next time.”

It isn't that Frank is exactly surprised. He’d noticed Gerard’s inability to commit to any plans outside of work in the short time that they’d known each other. That, however, doesn’t stop him from feeling slightly disappointed.

There’ll be other gigs. It’s not a big deal. Frank finishes packing up his shit and leaves, extremely fucking grateful that he doesn’t have to deal with Staples again until Monday.


	3. week two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii staples fic readers!!! we r back again for another chapter!!!
> 
> i just want to say once again thank you thank you thank you for all your support! i love hearing your thoughts and they really encourage me to keep writing <3 this chapter is a bit of a middle piece, just sort of establishing some more characterizations, since things don't really start to happen until the Next chapter. week three is Fun and Interesting and then week four is VERY interesting and week five is VERY VERY INTERESTING.
> 
> just trying to drum up the suspense. i promise, it's coming <3 in the meantime i hope you like this one! writing from ray's pov was rly fun and i love him a lot!!
> 
> also - if you follow me on twitter, i do talk about staples fic a Lot, but in case anyone was wondering what they all look like, i've been imagining a mostly bullets era vibe in this. i know this is set earlier, but honestly we don't really know a lot about what they looked like at the time, so it's hard to pinpoint it. thus, bullets era is in my head for the Appearances. however, there are plenty of pics of frank in pencey, so i'm specifying that as his look. absolutely no dreads. he's got that funky little choker though. ray wears glasses, gerard has long hair, mikey is the coolest motherfucker with the dumbest style on the planet. i hope that helps!
> 
> please let me know if you have any thoughts or questions! i love hearing your reviews!!! it means a lot to me <3
> 
> as always thank you to my killer beta Your Type Of Metal (projektgerard) for your brilliant ideas and encouragement! i miss you come back to twt soon <3
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

Ray Toro is organized. Ray Toro is punctual. Ray Toro is never late for anything.

Ray Toro is also in film school. Which means he’s starting to be late for everything else.

Ray fucking gets hives when he’s too late for things. Today, at least, his consolation in being extremely late is soothed by the phone call he has while speeding his way towards Staples after completely losing track of time at school.

“No, you’re good,” Mikey says over the phone, sounding somewhat far away. “Gee and I aren’t there yet either and I’m willing to bet that Frank’s late too.”

“We wouldn’t _be_ late if you hadn’t unplugged my _alarm_ last night, Mikey,” comes Gerard’s voice from somewhere in the general vicinity. “Fuck you for that.”

“I don’t know why you’re so pissed, you needed the sleep anyway,” Mikey says nonchalantly. “Besides, I had to charge my phone and I wasn’t about to go drop it off upstairs.”

“You could’ve used my charger! We have the same phone!”

“No, we don’t. Do you pay any attention to anything at all? That light’s yellow, by the way. Anyway, Ray, it’ll be fine, how far out are you?”

“Like, five minutes,” Ray replies, flipping on his turn signal to (he feels) careen onto the next road he needs to take. “I told Brian I was going to be late, but I was half an hour away already when I left, and traffic is starting to be a bitch.”

“It’s okay,” Mikey says, his tone light in a way that ends up being almost soothing. “You’re not gonna get in trouble if we all show up at the same time.”

“I’m supposed to be there half an hour before you anyway, it’s to fucking phase out the shifts.”

“You swear a lot more when you’re stressed out, did you know that?”

“Shut up, Mikey.”

Gerard mumbles something in the background that Ray can’t decipher.

“What?” Mikey asks. “Oh, okay, I’ll tell him. Gerard says it’s just a stupid job and that you shouldn’t stress out about it. That doesn’t help him, you know,” he continues, directing that last sentence back to his brother again.

“I gotta go,” Ray says distractedly, after cutting off an old lady with a liberal attitude towards the use of both her car’s horn and her own middle finger, looking in his rearview mirror and wincing. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“Don’t die,” Mikey says, and hangs up.

Ray doesn’t die. He pulls into the parking lot at the exact same minute that he sees Gerard’s shitty little car heading towards Staples and as he parks, he sees Frank getting out of his own driver’s side door.

“Hey,” Frank says when Ray gets out of his car. He is visibly fucking toasted. “Aren’t you usually here already?”

Ray sort of huffs out a little half-laugh. “Aren’t you usually not as high when you start?”

Frank shrugs. “I was running behind today. It’s cool. Brian won’t notice. I bet he won’t even notice that I’m not on time.”

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re all at least half an hour late, I’m pretty sure he’s noticed already,” Mikey’s voice says, and Ray turns around to see Mikey and Gerard walking across the parking lot towards them. “Look,” Mikey says, pointing with the hand holding his phone to the glass doors of the store.

Ray, who had been more focused on Frank’s high, imbecilic ass standing in front of him than what was waiting for them inside the store, looks over Frank’s head to see Brian waiting just inside the doors, with his arms crossed. His stance is strangely wide.

“Why is he standing like that?” Gerard asks, somewhat softly, as though he’s worried Brian can hear them.

“He probably read about power stances somewhere or some shit like that,” Frank replies, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Come on, if we all go in together, he’s gonna have to… I don’t know. Disperse his anger or some shit. It’s not gonna be as bad if it’s towards all of us at once.”

Frank grabs Ray’s arm and tugs him towards the doors, with Gerard and Mikey following closely behind them so that they all form a little knot.

The sliding glass doors open and the four of them step into the store. Ray shivers. He isn't sure if it’s so fucking cold in here because of the air conditioning, the residual November chill that followed them inside, or because of the glare that Brian is giving them, but that shit is fucking palpable.

Brian doesn’t say anything immediately. He stands there, waiting, which works because the store is empty right now and there’s no sound except for the ambient music playing in the background that Ray is itching to change to anything actually decent and the sound of Gerard biting anxiously at his thumbnail, which wouldn’t ordinarily be noticeable at _all_ , but because of the extreme lack of noise, seems like it’s the loudest sound in the universe.

“You know,” Brian says finally, uncrossing his arms to put his hands on his hips, his stance still weirdly wide, “you would think that out of all of the people that were hired for this location after Corporate purged the entire staff, out of _all_ the people I _personally_ hired, out of all the options for who could’ve ended up on my Monday-Wednesday-Friday afternoon staff, that I’d end up with even _one_ fucker who could tell me the truth when he said he’d be here on time.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to swear at your employees,” Frank says, and Ray elbows him.

Brian looks over at Frank, narrowing his eyes. “You’re on thin ice already, Iero, do not give me a reason to take a closer look at how fucked up you are right now and actually do something about it.”

Ray feels like this is one of those moments where, looking back on it, he won’t actually find it that stressful. Despite the knowledge of things not actually being that bad, logically, in the grand scheme of things, his body decides to react the way it tends to when he’s nervous, so when Frank goes, “Ooooh,” in an extremely drawn out tone, under his breath, with his eyes comically widened for effect, Ray physically cannot hold in the suppressed snort of laughter bubbling out of his mouth.

That makes Frank laugh, too, and Brian’s still furious attention focuses on Ray. “Something funny, Toro?”

“No,” Ray manages, but the word comes out all stifled from the hand clapped to his mouth and the effort he’s expending in not fully bursting into raucous, nervous laughter.

Brian sighs, looking like the anger and stress has gone out of him, leaving him deflated and ready for the day to be over, even though it just began. “Look, just. Be on time. Do I even want to know why the two of _you_ were late?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at Mikey and Gerard. “Ray called and said he lost track of time at school, and we _all_ know why Frank was late, even though I’m going to give him a pass for today, assuming he doesn’t show up like this again. What shitty excuse do you two have for me?”

Gerard begins, “Well, I, uh. Hmm.”

“He was asleep, and I didn’t want to come,” Mikey supplies.

Brian pinches the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He’s only in his mid-twenties, but at this exact moment, he looks like he’s a middle-aged dad dealing with too many unruly children. “Do you want to leave?”

“You and I both know that Frank can’t run PMS by himself today,” Mikey reasons.

Brian opens his mouth as though to argue. “Fine,” he says instead, sighing, waving a hand through the air in a dismissive manner. “Just go. Don’t do it again.”

With that, he heads off for the back office.

Once Brian is out of earshot, Ray turns to Mikey and says, somewhat incredulously, “You just didn’t want to come?”

Gerard gasps, suddenly enough that it makes Frank jump, and points at Mikey accusingly. “Is that why you fucking unplugged my alarm clock?”

“Actually, that was a coincidence. I didn’t think you’d sleep late enough to need an alarm at two in the afternoon, but here we are.”

Gerard opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times before sputtering out, “I have insomnia! You know I sleep weird hours!”

Mikey shrugs. “You know, for someone who said to Ray, and I quote, _it’s just a stupid job_ , not fifteen minutes ago, you sure seem to care about it a whole fuck ton.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “I talk a lot of shit.”

“Clearly,” Mikey replies. “Come on, Frankie, time to relocate.” He disentangles Frank’s arm from Ray’s and hauls him over to PMS.

Later, Brian seems to still be mad enough at his employees that he says only two of them can go to lunch at a time. Ray isn't sure what the logic behind this actually is, considering the store is, as usual, empty, but he and Mikey head out at the same time while Frank stays in PMS and Gerard continues to read _The Two Towers_ at the register.

They’re sitting at one of the little tables outside the Subway instead of eating inside, Mikey reaching over without asking and taking Ray’s cucumbers every time they fall out of his sandwich. Ray doesn’t mind. This is why he asked for extra cucumbers today.

“Are you okay?” Mikey asks after a few minutes of sitting outside and watching the cars and people go by. “You’re quieter than normal.”

Ray looks over at Mikey. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not quiet. I just know when to shut the fuck up.”

“Fair enough. You’re quiet comparatively.”

“So are you,” Mikey replies. They both know who they’re comparing the other to. “Either way, you didn’t answer my question. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ray replies. He puts a cucumber on Mikey’s sandwich paper. “Just stressed.”

Mikey picks up the cucumber slice and nods like he understands, even though Ray hasn’t elaborated on _why_ he’s stressed. Ray knows Mikey can figure it out, they’re both in college.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t die on your clearly reckless drive this afternoon,” Mikey says. “I think we’d have to start actually _helping_ people at work if you were gone, so, you know.”

Ray grins. “Clearly that’s the only reason why you guys like me around, right?”

“Oh, obviously.”

Mikey stops talking, almost abruptly, looking at something or someone further down the sidewalk, behind Ray, then narrows his eyes and takes a sip of his soda.

“What is it?” Ray asks, turning to look behind himself.

That guy from Party City who’s come to see Mikey a couple of times is lingering by the door of Staples. As if the added weight of Ray’s attention on him as well was enough to make him notice their location, he turns and his eyes catch on Mikey, a big smile appearing on his face.

Ray turns to look back at Mikey, his eyebrows raised. “He’s coming over here.”

Mikey’s expression is inscrutable. “I know.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Mikey sighs. “No, I need an excuse for cutting the conversation short. Pete is, unfortunately, yet another person around here who doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up.”

“You seem to surround yourself with them.”

“This is exactly why I’m enjoying the quality time I get with you,” Mikey says, then immediately continues, “Hi, Pete.”

“Hi, Mikey,” the guy – Pete, Ray is guessing – says, glancing at Ray somewhat nervously. “Hi, uh…”

Ray points at his nametag. “Ray.”

“Oh, yeah. Ray. Sorry,” Pete says. Ray waves a hand through the air in a motion of absolution, and Pete continues, “Anyway, Mikey, I, uh, I know you’re busy all the time –”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, not particularly encouragingly. The placement of his statement makes it seem like it’s meant to be a sort of acknowledgement of Pete’s part of the conversation, but Ray could swear it sounds like Mikey’s deliberately interrupting Pete just to throw him off. “I am.”

“Yeah, well, I do a thing at my place, like, every weekend, just with people I know, and it would be cool to have you there. At some point. I don’t know, just – just whenever works for you.”

“Cool,” Mikey replies. “Maybe. I can’t this weekend. Gee has a thing, I’m going to it with him.”

“Oh, okay,” Pete says, looking confused.

“His brother,” Ray offers.

“Oh! Yeah. Well. He can come too if he wants. And you, Ray.”

Mikey takes a bite of cucumber. After he swallows, he asks, “Can Frank come?”

“Yeah, of course, whoever you want to bring.”

“Cool,” Mikey says again. He stands up, crumpling up the now-empty paper wrapper of his sandwich. “Maybe at some point. Like I said, Gee has a thing this weekend, so we can’t go. Ray and I have to get back. See you around, Pete.”

Pete, looking slightly disoriented by what was clearly an unsuccessful endeavor, stammers out a goodbye and heads into Subway. Ray stands up and looks over at Mikey while they throw their shit into a nearby trash can.

Mikey raises his eyebrows at Ray. “What?”

Ray laughs, shaking his head. “Dude.”

“ _What_?”

“You could at least _tell_ him you don’t like him.”

Mikey shrugs. “He’s a decent fuck, what am I gonna do, completely cut that shit out?”

“I don’t know, probably! He’s _totally_ gone on you, you have to tell him.”

Mikey sighs heavily as they start to walk back to Staples. “You sound like Gerard.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad thing, even if using him as your excuse to not go to a party is shit at best, everyone knows he doesn’t have _a thing._ In any case, he’s right.”

“Not a lot of the time. A lot of the time he’s an idiot. Hi, Gerard,” Mikey says as they pass the registers. Gerard, in the middle of helping a customer, gives them a little wave.

“You’re an idiot, too,” Ray says. He doesn’t mean it in any sort of insulting way.

Mikey clearly knows that, because he nods and says, “I know. You’re the only one here with any smarts among us, Ray Toro.”

With that, they separate and head to their own sections of the store.

To compensate for Monday’s extreme lateness, Ray shows up to his Wednesday shift fifteen minutes early.

Despite his increased punctuality today, Ray can’t bring himself to actually go inside this early. He gets out of his car, parked in front of Staples, with the intention of walking over to Dunkin to get a coffee before he has to trudge into hell and answer inane questions – both from customers and coworkers – and is surprised to see Gerard sitting on the bench in front of Staples, smoking a cigarette and looking bored.

“Hey,” Ray calls as he approaches, brow furrowed. “You’re early.”

“Oh, hey!” Gerard replies, expression brightening as he sees Ray. “Yeah, I didn’t want to be late. Mikey’s getting a ride with Frank today, anyway, so it isn't like I had to wait around for him.”

“Doesn’t Mikey have his own car?”

Gerard shrugs. “Nah, I normally drop him places. It isn't like I have that much to do, anyway.”

There’s a hint of bitterness in Gerard’s tone that Ray isn't sure how to deal with. He knows Gerard graduated from SVA in the spring and he knows the job market is hell. It isn't hard to put two and two together, given that Gerard is working at Staples, despite him not saying anything about it. Ray likes to think that he and Gerard are good enough friends – they’ve known each other forever, it’s not like they’re just meeting – that Gerard could talk to Ray about shit if he _wanted_ to, but Ray doesn’t want to press him.

Gerard doesn’t elaborate on anything, he just offers Ray a drag of his cigarette. Ray waves him off gently and Gerard shrugs again, putting the cigarette to his own mouth in that weird, open-handed way he has of holding them.

“What do you know…” Gerard begins, then stops, sniffs a little, the November chill getting to him. He continues, “What do you know about Mikey and that guy Pete?”

Ray starts a little at that, surprised. “Not much, dude, it’s not like Mikey’s exactly forthcoming.”

Gerard frowns. “Yeah, I know. The thing is, he usually tells me _something_. So either it’s something real or it’s something insignificant and either way he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want me to know about it.”

“It could go either way, honestly.”

“Yeah.” Gerard sighs. There’s a beat of silence between them. “If we get fired from Staples, we should start a band. You still play, right?”

“Sure,” Ray replies. “Can’t have a band with just us, though.”

Gerard tilts his head back against the back of the bench and takes a drag of his cigarette. “I dunno. Maybe we can loop Mikey into it. Did he tell you he tried out for Frank’s band?”

“Dude, no way?”

“Yeah.” Gerard winces. “They don’t talk about it.”

A car pulls up in front of them. “Speak of the devil,” Gerard says, flicking what’s left of his cigarette onto the sidewalk and grinding it out with his shoe. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Mikey says.

“Fuck off,” Frank also replies, by way of greeting, but he grins sunnily at Gerard as he says it. “Hi, Ray.”

“Hey, kid,” Ray says. Frank sticks his tongue out at him.

When they all get inside – on time, for once, and with Frank and Mikey an actually manageable level of toasted – Brian is waiting for them inside the breakroom, standing on the table with his arms crossed, looking up at the clock on the wall. Ray gets the impression that they caught him in a moment of weirdness.

“Hi, Brian,” Gerard says, moving to put his bag inside his locker. “How theatrical of you.”

Brian visibly jumps at being spoken to. “I was trying to see if the clock had stopped. Better angle,” he explains, gesturing vaguely to the table.

“Sure,” Frank replies. “It’s okay, I like standing on tables, too.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “I wanted to talk to all of you, anyway. Corporate sent this email asking me to lay some shit out for you, so, what the hell.”

Frowning, Ray asks, “Are we in trouble?”

“No, you’re fine. They’re just super tight on what they want us to do and the goals we’re supposed to meet. Since Black Friday is coming up next week and you’re all _technically_ seasonal employees –”

“Since we’re what?” Mikey asks. “Brian, you never said this was a seasonal job.”

Brian looks at Mikey like he’s stupid. “I – we talked about how it’s right before Thanksgiving, right? That’s the goddamn holiday season. Also, everyone goes through a three-month probationary period. Basically, all new hires are essentially seasonal.”

Frank crosses his arms. “So, it’s all a test. They’re gonna decide at the end if we get to stay on.”

“That’s bullshit,” Ray interjects. “What are they gonna base it on, sales?”

Gerard scoffs. “Yeah, well, if it’s sales, then Ray’s gonna stay on for sure, but what the fuck about the rest of us? I don’t fucking _sell_ anything at the register, that’s the rest of your jobs.”

“It’s not only based on sales,” Brian says, cutting through the discussion. “It’s like… partially to do with customer service, there’s survey cards on the receipts, and then the departments that _do_ deal with sales are evaluated on that. There’s also part of it that’s based on management evaluation but unfortunately that’s not all of it.”

“Great,” Gerard says. His jaw is set, and every line of his body looks tight. “Fucking fantastic. If I’d known about this I would’ve applied at, I don’t know, literally _anywhere_ else. God, it’s like I don’t have enough shit going on in my life right now, Brian, I _so_ wanted to add potentially losing the only job that would hire me even though I’m over-fucking-qualified for it in less than three months. Thank you for this.”

“Hey –” Brian starts indignantly, but Gerard shuts his locker with a bit more force than necessary and leaves the room.

There’s a beat, and then Frank almost runs after him, calling, “Gee, wait!” as he exits the breakroom.

Mikey turns to Brian. “He’s going through some shit right now.”

Brian sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can see that.” He pauses, then continues, “Do you think I should talk to him?”

“I don’t know, man,” Ray puts in. “He’ll talk if he wants to.”

Brian waves a hand through the air dismissively. “Okay. Go on, do your thing.”

Ray and Mikey head out into the store, Ray catching sight of Frank sitting on Gerard’s counter at the front and doodling something on his own knee through the rip in his jeans, clearly being extremely effective at making the tension dissipate, judging from the grin on Gerard’s face.

“Huh,” Ray says, more to himself than anything else, but Mikey turns towards the direction that Ray is looking and evidently sees the same thing.

“Shit,” Mikey sighs. “That’s gonna be a problem.”

Mikey leaves for PMS. Ray doesn’t ask him to elaborate.


	4. week three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S STAPLES DAY!!!!
> 
> hello everyone! after a laborious experience in getting this chapter out (no idea why it was doing that, i think the new POV shift made it a little bit harder to adapt, but what can i say, i like a challenge) we are finally good to go!
> 
> i just want to say thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments and i really truly appreciate every single one of you <3 you're all very important to me and i feel so supported in continuing to write this. hearing your thoughts means the world to me and i'm so happy to hear that you're enjoying what i'm putting out!!
> 
> as always please feel free to reach out anywhere if you want to ask questions or tell me your thoughts or just say hi!!!! love you all and i hope you like this next chapter!!
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

Mikey’s in PMS helping Frank discreetly slide finished, stolen copies of Pencey Prep posters for his gig on Wednesday night when there’s movement at the edge of his vision and he looks up to see Gerard sitting on the counter, in the spot where Frank normally swings his legs over to get inside.

He raises his eyebrows at his older brother. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Gerard replies, then sighs deeply. “I’m bored.”

“Did you finish your book?” Frank asks, looking up from the copy machine. “That shit’s long as fuck, I haven’t even been able to get through the first one.”

Gerard nods. “Yeah, I’m done, but Tolkien’s fucking dense, it took me ages to get through Fellowship. I should’ve brought another book for the rest of the shift.”

“Well,” Frank replies, pressing a button and raising his voice slightly over the resuming noise of the copy machine, “now that you don’t have anything to do, you get to talk to me.”

Mikey almost says _I’m here, too,_ but he can’t help it, he wants to see how this plays out. He knows what’s going on, or at least, the path that it seems like things are traveling on. He likes to think he’s pretty fucking observant and that he knows his brother and his friend well enough to figure shit out, even if neither of them has.

Mikey knows that Gerard makes a lot of his decisions by weighing how much he wants something versus the effort he’ll have to expend to get it, and that he must have wanted to come over here enough that he’s willing to put up with the irritation he’ll have to go through when he’s called back to the register to do his job. He knows that Frank is transparent as fuck, and the brightness of his eyes and the stupid, hopeful eagerness in his tone when he talks to Gerard is more telling than anything he could actually be saying.

Mikey knows that _this_ , whatever this is, more than anything else, is probably a bad fucking idea, and he knows that he and Ray are probably going to be picking up the pieces after it peaks and most likely explodes, the emotional shrapnel digging into the heart Frank wears on his sleeve and the space under Gerard’s ribs that he tries so hard to protect.

That knowledge, unfortunately, doesn’t mean that there’s anything Mikey can do about it.

It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. “You _have_ to come on Wednesday,” Frank is saying, shoving a poster, still warm from the copy machine, into Gerard’s hand. Gerard takes it, studying the design. “It’s not an option for you to skip it this time, man. Night before Thanksgiving.”

“Right,” Gerard replies. “Can’t miss that.”

Frank, standing just close enough to Gerard to be in reach of his leg, shoves at him half-heartedly, saying, “Fuck off, don’t be a hermit. Mikey’s coming.”

“I am?” Mikey asks, but it apparently doesn’t come out sounding like a question, because Frank turns to him and nods, before turning back to Gerard.

“See? You don’t have an excuse.”

“Don’t underestimate me, I could come up with one.”

“Oh, I’d never underestimate you,” Frank replies, and Mikey clears his throat, somewhat fucking noisily.

Gerard looks over at him with a concerned expression. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Mikey replies dryly. “I’m gonna go piss.”

Mikey doesn’t go piss, but he does leave. He can’t go over the counter like he and Frank normally do because Gerard is sitting there, which is irrationally irritating him. It isn't like it’s particularly convenient to climb over the counter on a multi-daily basis, but fuck, it’s routine. Gerard’s fucking with the routine.

He catches sight of Ray sitting on the floor by the boxed-up printers and sticking little markdown tags on the shelf labels. Ray looks up as Mikey approaches, expression shifting from bright to apprehensive when he takes a look at Mikey’s face.

“Do I even want to know?” Ray asks.

Mikey sighs, says “Probably not,” and flops down on the floor next to Ray, where he sits for the next half hour. Ray offers him an earbud and Mikey listens to whatever mix is in Ray’s tiny CD player in his left ear and Ray’s (supremely helpful and distracting) stories about his day in his right.

“You know,” Ray says, after a while, “they’re gonna think you’re taking a shit.”

Mikey snorts, head leaned back against one of the shelves and eyes closed, the wire to his singular earbud shifting slightly as Ray scoots to a new position on the floor. “As if they’ve even noticed that I was gone.”

He hears footsteps somewhere to the right. Mikey doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that it’s Brian, he can tell from the gait. “Hi, Brian.”

“How did you… never mind,” Brian says. “Does no one here actually work?”

Mikey cracks his eyes open to see Ray waving his price tag sticker dispenser in the air a little bit with an affronted expression on his face.

“I don’t know,” Ray replies flatly. “Who’s to say what you’re doing in the back office all day, Brian?”

“Picking up the pieces from my shit employees, that’s what,” Brian answers. “Mikey, go back to PMS.”

Mikey sighs heavily, handing the earbud back to Ray, and heads back to actually do his job without verbal complaint. To his immense relief, Gerard has gone back to the registers.

“Oh,” Frank says, leaning against the counter and looking up from where he’s coloring in the chips in his nail polish with a red sharpie, “you didn’t climb over the counter. Did you have a bad shit?”

Mikey, who had walked through the opening in the counter instead of vaulting over, rubs at his eyes underneath his glasses before answering. “I wasn’t shitting.”

“Sure,” Frank replies. His tone isn't skeptical, but it tells Mikey that Frank absolutely does not believe him. He pauses, then continues, “You know, we’re friends. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“I don’t need to talk about my shit, Frank.”

Frank shrugs. “I just want you to know I’m here for you.”

“And I’m here for you,” Mikey replies, and if the technically kind words come out with a little bite to them, Mikey doesn’t give a fuck. “Is there anything _you_ want to talk about?”

Frank glances off to the side, but in a way that’s sort of like he’s trying to figure out what Mikey’s hinting at. He fiddles with the key uselessly attached to his stupid choker and says, “Not… really?”

“Okay,” Mikey sighs, deflating somewhat.

He thinks about the stupidity of the people around him and how they’re hellbent on doing shit that’s going to hurt them and each other for the rest of his shift. He thinks about it on the way home, with Gerard in the driver’s seat talking up a storm about something Mikey can’t bring himself to completely pay attention to, looking out the window and bouncing his leg while scenarios of how Frank’s gig might go bouncing around his head. He thinks about it lying on his bed later on, frowning at the ceiling, where the glow-in-the-dark stars that his dad had stuck up when Mikey was little still twinkle vaguely. He thinks about it when he takes Gerard’s keys later and goes out after texting Party City Pete to meet up and fuck around.

Mikey comes home with a blooming little bruise on the base of his throat and no solutions to any of his problems, so he does what he does every time he feels like shit about something going on.

“Hey,” Gerard says when Mikey comes into the basement from the outside door, not fully looking up from something he’s sketching, hunched over with only a shitty little lamp casting a circle of light on his paper. He frowns, noticing the keys clutched in Mikey’s hand. “Did you take my car?”

“Yeah,” Mikey replies, tossing the keys at Gerard. It’s a bad throw, and the keys bounce off the tip of Gerard’s middle finger as he raises his hand. Gerard turns and watches the keys fall, then redirects his focus at Mikey with a face that looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Mikey points at his brother, flipping on the big light as Gerard squints. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Shut up anyway.”

Gerard peers at Mikey more closely. “Is that a hickey?”

“No,” Mikey lies. “You’re ruining your eyes with that shitty lamp. Use the big light.”

“Clearly I can see just fine,” Gerard replies, gesturing towards Mikey with the hand still holding a pencil, and Mikey seethes at the smug tone in his voice. “Who was it?”

Mikey groans and flops down on the couch rather than answering Gerard.

The night before Thanksgiving is, by tradition, a big drinking night.

Luckily for the minimum wage staff of Staples, they’re also closing early. Sure, it’s only an hour and the store is supposed to be opening at some bullshit hour in the middle of the night on actual Thanksgiving, but Mikey doesn’t work on Thursdays, so he’s unconcerned. Brian locking the doors at eight o’clock on Wednesday is honestly just enough to balance out Mikey’s mood, given the shit he’s inevitably going to have to go through later.

It had taken a remarkably small amount of convincing on Frank’s part to get Gerard to go to the house party Pencey’s playing. An almost _suspiciously_ small amount of convincing, Mikey thinks, but he’s keeping his mouth shut for several reasons.

The biggest reason is that he’s so fucking certain that there’s no way either of the guilty parties are aware of anything happening. To Mikey, this is so _obvious_ , like so many things that never seem to be clear to other people yet are crystal to him, but he also knows Gerard like he knows the beating of his own heart, and that steady thrum in his chest tells him that his brother might have something going on, but he’s sure as shit not cognizant of it.

This leads Mikey to his next reason for not saying shit: Gerard will play dumb and Frank will get defensive and he doesn’t have the energy to fight with either of them before he _has_ to.

Mikey doesn’t have the energy for a lot of things lately. At least, not things that require him putting a metric fuckton of thought into them. He barely has energy to go to school and go to work, how the fuck is Mikey supposed to approach his older – and supposedly wiser – brother about the eighteen-year-old falling in love with him during what is clearly a slump in said brother’s life?

Fuck, Mikey can’t even navigate his own romantic shit. He isn't ready to deal with Gerard’s.

Despite both his unpreparedness and his awareness he’s inching closer to an undesirable conversation with each passing day, Mikey clambers into Ray’s car without complaining at the end of their shift – Ray had had the idea that since they were all going to the same place, they should carpool, so whoever got smashed had less of a chance of trying to drive home – glancing in the side mirror to try and catch a glimpse of Gerard behind him and get a read on what his brother might be thinking.

Gerard’s eyes catch Mikey’s in the mirror. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mikey replies cagily, narrowing his eyes. Gerard makes a face at him that looks something like a grimace.

“Are we driving Frank, too?” Gerard asks, leaning forward to sort of poke his head between the seats.

“Nah, he has to go get his shit,” Ray replies, starting the car. “Move your head, Gee, I can’t see out the back.”

It’s only eight, so Ray drives them to Waffle House and they sit in a booth for the next two hours and drink watery coffee while Gerard smokes and Mikey and Ray complain about it. Frank had never told them what time Pencey’s set is starting, so after a discussion mostly comprised of shrugging and saying _I don’t know, whatever you guys wanna do_ , they pay for their coffee and head out the door to whoever’s house it is that they’ll be invading tonight.

By the time they get to the house, the party is beginning its upswing. Mikey edges through the door, Gerard and Ray on his heels, not bothering to look and see if there’s someone at the front checking who’s coming inside. He doesn’t think there is – the likelihood seems low – but if anyone cares enough, they were invited by the band, so it doesn’t matter. Music is playing, but it isn't live; Mikey makes it into the living room of the house and looks over the crowd as best he can, catching sight of Frank on the other side of the room, getting set up with the rest of his band. Frank looks up then and grins as he sees them, Ray’s hand lifting in a wave out of the corner of Mikey’s eye.

“So, we didn’t miss their set,” Gerard says to Mikey’s right, speaking in a slightly raised voice to be heard over the voices and the music. Mikey turns to look at his brother, at his hands shoved in his pockets of his jacket that he’s resolutely refused to remove, at the odd expression hovering somewhere among his mouth and eyebrows, and watches as Gerard reaches up and tugs a hand through his hair that so fucking badly needs to be washed, a sure sign that he’s thinking about something more than what he’s saying.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Ray says, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“I’ll come,” Mikey says. “Gee?”

“Uh,” Gerard says somewhat distractedly, “can you grab me something? I’m gonna find a spot for us. Closer, I mean.”

“Okay,” Mikey says slowly. “Let’s go, Ray.”

The kitchen is only separated from the living room by part of the counter, the cabinets above providing a little window into the packed room. Mikey leans a narrow hip against the counter while Ray rummages around in the fridge, eventually emerging with three beers. He hands one to Mikey, keeping ahold of the other to bring back to Gerard.

Ray sighs. “You can’t do anything about it.”

He doesn’t have to elaborate. They both know what he’s talking about.

“I know,” Mikey says, looking through the counter-cabinet-window. Gerard’s made his way closer to the band, sitting on the arm of a couch and talking to Frank. Mikey can’t see his brother’s face, but he can see Frank’s, which tells him all he needs to know.

He finds a bottle opener somewhere among the mess of shit on the counter, pops off the cap of his drink and, seeing that Ray’s hands are full, opens both of the bottles he’s holding so that they can weave through the crowd to Gerard.

“Thanks,” Ray says, and he sounds a little bit taken aback, a little bit soft. Mikey is surprised he can even hear Ray over the noise in the house right now.

“Yeah,” Mikey replies. “Of course.” He picks up his drink, seeing Frank step back from Gerard and get back on the shitty little makeshift stage, resettling his guitar on his shoulder. “We should go meet up with Gee.”

Mikey drank too much at the party.

It’s his second day in a row of being hungover when he drags himself out of bed in the early Friday afternoon, having nursed a few drinks over Thanksgiving but mostly still struggling to recover from Wednesday night. Gerard, the absolute bastard, had been fine after a few hours on Thursday, and hadn’t even noticed that Mikey was dying.

Mikey slowly, laboriously, haltingly makes his way down the stairs so they can leave for fucking Staples, where it’s going to be loud and people are going to be _bothering_ him and they’re probably not going to be able to get rid of anyone fast enough. He’s expecting the worst, even though on extremely busy days, Mikey probably speaks to five people who aren’t his coworkers at most.

Gerard is sitting on the floor and tying his shoes. He looks up as Mikey approaches, and blinks several times before saying, “Why do you still look like shit?”

Mikey sighs, but it comes out like more of a groan. “Bad decision-making.”

“Ah.” Gerard holds out a hand as he finishes tying his shoes, and Mikey grabs it without being asked, pulling his brother to his feet despite feeling like he’s about to fall over himself. “Well, if we’re lucky, Staples will continue to get absolutely fuck-all in terms of customer count.”

“When have we ever been lucky?” Mikey asks as Gerard grabs his keys and starts to head out the door.

Gerard shrugs. “I mean, I think Brian said he’s going to put Frank on the registers with me today instead of with you, since that’s probably where, you know, there’s the highest chance of shit actually being busy, so. At least there’s that.”

“Hmm,” Mikey says. He isn't sure if Gerard’s point is that Mikey will have at least one less person talking to him or that Frank’s going to be spending his entire shift at the registers with Gerard, but he gets the sense that this is most likely a two-pronged statement. There’s a little color high on Gerard’s cheeks, Mikey notices, but he’s pretty sure he’s seeing a burst blood vessel, not a blush.

It’s still the busiest day Mikey has yet to encounter at Staples, but his Black Friday experience is tempered by the fact that anyone who comes to bother him specifically is generally more patient than the fuckers his coworkers are having to deal with because they know printing is gonna take a long ass time. It also helps that Frank, who normally talks nonstop about who the fuck knows what next to Mikey, day in and day out, is doing that to Gerard instead today, and as much as Mikey both loves the two of them and worries about the way they’re looking at each other lately, he’s incredibly grateful that they’re bothering each other today instead of him.

The best part of Black Friday, at least, the best part that isn't _leaving_ , is that he and Ray are starting to master a sort of facial sign language from their counters opposite each other in the store. The repeated phrases seem to be _get me the fuck out of here_ and _do you think I’d get fired if I committed homicide right now_ , but Mikey’s day is noticeably better when he looks up from the laminator and sees Ray making a face at him that’s full of misery but that still makes him laugh a little bit.

Brian kicks all the customers out of the store at nine o’clock on the dot, to the point that he’s herding them out with a push broom, looking harried and exhausted. They close the store faster than they’ve ever done it before and it seems like before Mikey has time to blink, they’re in the parking lot by Frank’s car, parked under a lamppost. He’s leaning against the passenger side headlight, with Gerard sitting on the hood nearest to him and Frank on his other side, Ray sort of halfway perched on the base of the lamppost.

Gerard hands Mikey a joint. “We made it.”

“Yeah,” Mikey replies after taking a drag, the smoke floating out of his mouth on his exhale and twisting its way upward in the golden light of the lamp. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to do it.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Frank says cheerily as Ray reaches over and takes the joint from Mikey. “Gee and I had our shit handled the whole time.”

“Some of us were _alone_ , Frank. Some of us were abandoned.”

“Some of _us_ aren’t still hungover two days later, Mikey,” Frank replies. He has the joint again. He takes a drag and blows the smoke directly into Gerard’s face. Gerard waves it off, laughing a little. Frank continues, in a vague, joking imitation of a disappointed parent’s tone, “These are your choices. Do you have room to be complaining about anything?”

Mikey watches the careful, gentle way Gerard reaches out and disentangles the joint from Frank’s hand, the way Frank’s eyes follow the movement and linger on Gerard’s mouth as he sucks down the smoke. Is it conscious, the way they are around each other? Do they know? Mikey can’t tell anymore.

“I always have room to complain,” Mikey replies.


	5. week four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy. this is a big one. i don't even know what to say but. fuck. thank you for the support <3
> 
> shoutout to lex, one of my best friends, for insistence that gabe saporta be included, and also for letting me use her as a background character in the dunkin scene. she provides me with so many background characters in my various stories that i have decided to make her one <3
> 
> love u all <333 please talk to me if you would like to!
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

Gerard is watching the coffee drip into the pot and feeling his eyes glaze over when there’s a sudden bang of a closing cabinet to his right and he jumps.

“Sorry,” Mikey says, not sounding sorry at all. “Mug,” he adds, by way of explanation, lifting a coffee mug with a silhouette of Bigfoot and the words _Gone Squatchin’_ printed on the side.

Gerard frowns. “Is that mine?”

“Technically, I think it’s Dad’s. I’m pretty sure he was the one who spent three whole dollars on it.”

They lapse into silence. This isn't unusual, but there’s something about it today that’s giving Gerard pause. Mikey’s looking at him with an expression that’s significantly more calculating than normal.

He feels like he’s itching under his skin. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mikey blatantly lies, and Gerard stares at him. “Do you want to go to a party tomorrow?”

Gerard blinks. “That is _not_ what you were staring holes through me for.”

“You’re so smart,” Mikey replies, then repeats, in the exact same tone as before, “Do you want to go to a party tomorrow?”

The coffee is done, so Gerard pulls the pot out of the machine and pours himself a cup, deliberately staying silent to give himself a chance to think. Here’s the thing about going to parties with Mikey – they’re always at least _decent_ parties, and the people there are usually not completely terrible, but Mikey inevitably disappears and Gerard ends up floating around between groups and feeling disconnected all to fuck because the person he came with is off doing who knows what with who knows who (all _Gerard_ knows is that he doesn’t want to or need to know anymore than the vaguest suggestion of what may be going on).

Still. It wouldn’t be bad.

“Sure,” Gerard says finally, handing the coffeepot off to Mikey, looping his fingers weirdly through the top of the handle so Mikey can get his whole hand around it. “Here’s the thing, though. I don’t want to go by myself.”

Mikey looks at him blankly, like he’s stupid. “You wouldn’t be going by yourself, you’d be going with me.”

“No, I know, just – you know what happens.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Gerard says, and Mikey flashes him a quick grin. “Can Ray come? And Frank?”

Mikey sighs deeply. “I mean, it’s Party City Pete’s thing, so. Sure. I have a standing invite and Ray was there when that happened.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Gerard says. “Party City Pete.”

Mikey grimaces. “Don’t.”

Gerard opens his mouth in a little _o_ of false innocence. “Don’t what? Don’t ask my brother about his life? Don’t take an interest in what’s happening for him? Don’t ask him if he _likes_ Party City Pete and that’s why we’re going to a thing this weekend?”

“If I _liked_ Party City Pete, I wouldn’t be bringing you to his place.”

Gerard is only slightly affronted at that. “Like you bringing _me_ is going to have any sort of impact in whether or not you get your dick sucked.”

“True,” Mikey concedes, “but consider this – you fake an emergency and I have an excuse to leave.” He takes a sip of his coffee, looking at Gerard over his slightly-fogged glasses as he does.

“I could just _call_ you.”

“But then you wouldn’t get to go to a party. With Ray. And _Frank_.”

Gerard has no idea why Mikey put that weird little emphasis on Frank’s name, but he’s looking at Gerard like he’s _supposed_ to understand. “…Sure,” he says eventually, because he doesn’t know what the fuck Mikey is trying to get at.

Mikey sighs, so deeply and so gustily and so exasperatedly that Gerard is surprised there isn't an emergency weather report declared due to high winds in the area.

“Come on,” his brother says, rolling his eyes. “We have to go to work.”

It’s one of those days where Gerard feels somehow like time is passing at a snail’s pace and yet also flying by. He helps some teenagers find the markers they need for a project. He doodles on the Sharpie display on the way back to the registers. He goes with Frank to get coffee for everyone at Dunkin about halfway through the afternoon.

They’re hovering around the pickup area inside Dunkin, waiting for their tray of coffee to appear on the counter, Frank fidgeting with his lip ring as he leans against the wall, and Gerard says, “Mikey’s taking me to a party tomorrow.”

Frank stops touching his lip ring and looks up at Gerard with interest. “Oh, shit, really? Whose party?”

“Party City Pete.”

Frank laughs. “Oh, so that’s still a thing.”

“Yeah,” Gerard replies, grimacing. “I don’t think it’s serious. But, I mean. It’s enough that I don’t want to go with _just_ Mikey, you know.”

There’s a pause, wherein Frank just looks at Gerard for a moment before saying, “I know.” His gaze flicks off to the side, and Gerard gets the sense that Frank’s trying to fill a space, rather than thinking anything over. He continues, “I mean, I could come with you. If you wanted.”

“Oh,” Gerard says. A weird, unexpected, feeling of… something swoops in his stomach at Frank’s suggestion, but for the life of him he has no idea why. He was going to ask Frank anyway. “I was going to ask you anyway.”

“You were?” Frank asks, a stupid little grin forming on his face, and his lip ring catches the light as Gerard’s stomach feels weird again. Maybe he ate something bad. “Cool.”

A bored voice calls from the counter, “Hey, Staples, your coffee’s ready.”

“Thank you,” Gerard says, picking it up. He glances at her nametag. “Lexi.”

Lexi gives him a weird look at the use of her name and goes back to work.

“You know,” Frank says as they start to leave, taking the fifth coffee, carefully balanced on the lids of the others nestled into the drink carrier, and opening the door for Gerard so they can walk back to their own store, “for a twenty-two year old, you have the oldest energy in the world.”

Gerard frowns, squinting through the surprise of a lightly falling snow as they step outside. “Fuck, I should’ve brought my hat. Also, what?”

Frank shrugs. “You talk like a grandma sometimes. You know, only old people actually use people’s names in stores and shit, right, that’s what I mean.”

“I’m _nice_ , what can I say?”

“You’re not nice.”

“I’m not _nice_?” Gerard asks incredulously. He stops walking. “What the fuck, dude, where do you get off?”

Frank lets out a short little laugh, and says, “Well,” before stopping himself, laughing again and shaking his head.

“Shut up,” Gerard interrupts, cutting him off. The snow is starting to come down in bigger, fluffy pieces, rather than in flakes, and they keep catching in his hair. He blinks rapidly, but he can’t do anything about them with his fucking hands stuck holding the coffees. “Not like that. The point is, I’m a very nice person.”

“No, I know you are,” Frank agrees, pausing to reach up and take a chunk of snow out of somewhere between Gerard’s hair and eyelashes, his fingers careful. “Just only on your own terms. You can be an asshole sometimes. I’ve seen some shit when someone dares to come over and ask you to do your job.”

“Fuck you, I’m the model of customer service,” Gerard replies, and they keep walking.

Frank snorts. “Yeah, sure, you’re the perfect employee. You didn’t even say thank you to _me_ , for getting snow out of your eye, by the way, and we’re friends. I can only imagine how you talk to strangers.”

“Thank you for getting snow out of my eye, Frank, my best friend in the whole world,” Gerard replies. “I’d put my hand on my heart to show you how I feel about you in this moment, but my hands are full.”

Frank laughs. “You don’t have to do that. I know how you feel.”

They’re right outside of Staples. “Do you?” Gerard asks, and it comes out a lot more quietly than he was intending, but Frank still hears him.

Frank takes a moment to reply, but then he says, an expression that Gerard can’t even begin to decipher on his face, “Gee, I think –” and he’s cut off by the automatic doors whooshing open behind him.

“Oh, thank god, you’re back,” Ray’s voice is saying, and Gerard blinks.

“This one’s yours,” Frank is telling Ray, offering him the cup in his hand, and Ray is taking it gratefully, and Gerard follows them inside, feeling like something almost happened, but he can’t put his finger on exactly what it was.

Gerard tries to figure out what that _something_ was for the rest of the day. He tries to figure it out while he drinks his coffee and sings absently along despite himself to _…Baby One More Time_ as it plays faintly on the Staples speaker system. He thinks it over several times over the course of a somewhat sleepless night and while killing time on Saturday until Mikey tells him it’s time to leave.

Unfortunately for Gerard, Mikey has something against showing up even _close_ to the time when, according to Party City Pete, _people are coming over_ , so Gerard doesn’t think they’re even getting to the house until at least ten.

This is part of why he’s so surprised when, as he’s lying on the couch in the basement and smoking, he feels a whack on his leg. Gerard looks up and identifies the offending appendage as Mikey’s hand.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Gerard replies, sitting up. “It’s like… what, seven? I thought we weren’t going until later.”

Mikey holds out a hand and pulls Gerard to his feet. “We’re going to Ray’s. Pre-gaming.”

Gerard lets out a little huff of a laugh. “I mean, it’s not like there isn't going to be anything to drink at Pete’s.”

“Yeah, but I’m not showing up there sober,” Mikey replies. Gerard doesn’t ask him to elaborate.

They get in the car and Gerard drives them over to Ray’s apartment. He’s only been a couple of times, mostly because Ray is never there, so he’s pretty impressed with himself that he remembers the way. If Gerard is being honest, he takes a wrong turn once or twice, but he thinks he plays it off pretty well and that Mikey doesn’t notice.

They knock on Ray’s door when they arrive, and he opens it almost immediately.

“Hey,” Ray says, voice bright. “Glad you guys made it.”

“Me too, I wasn’t sure we were going to,” Mikey replies, stepping through the door as Ray moves away to let them inside. “Gerard got lost twice.”

“I did _not,_ ” Gerard protests, following his brother in. “I didn’t,” he says directly to Ray. “I made a wrong turn. I wasn’t _lost_.”

“It’s okay, I believe you,” Ray says in a reassuring tone that Gerard is sure is bullshit. He lets it slide.

“We brought a gift,” he says instead, holding up a bottle of vodka.

“Nice,” Ray replies. “Who’s tonight’s D.D.?”

“God, you’re so responsible,” comes Frank’s voice from the kitchen. “Hi, guys,” he says as Mikey and Gerard make their way inside. “I’ve decided to marry Ray.”

Mikey laughs a little at that. “Okay, I’m a little insulted that I wasn’t your first choice but give me the reasons.”

Frank, sitting on the counter and swinging his legs (the distance from his feet to the ground is remarkably high, Gerard notices) holds up a hand and starts to tick off his points as he lists them out for Mikey. “One, he’s very tall. I’d never need a step stool. Two, he’s hot as fuck. Have you guys seen him?”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Ray says, shoving Frank lightly as he walks past him, going into the cabinet for cups.

“No, you shut up, I’m listing good qualities about you,” Frank says. “Three, he’s about to be a college graduate.”

“I’m a college graduate,” Gerard says to no one in particular. Frank grins at him, bright and sharp, before continuing.

“Four, he’s creative as all shit. He’s gonna be a film editor! He’s fucking incredible at guitar! And fifth – wait, or should I say five?”

“Five,” Ray says.

“Five,” Frank repeats, “he has his own apartment, which is sick, and responsible as hell. I’m gonna marry him because he’s going places.”

“Good reasons,” Mikey says, after listening to Frank’s extensive list. “Have you been thinking about this for a while?”

Frank adopts an over-the-top expression of adoration as Ray turns around from the cabinet and can actually see him again. “I think about Ray Toro all the time.”

Ray rolls his eyes. “You’re annoying. Who wants a drink?”

Ray isn't the _only_ one who’s creative and who went to college and who could be going places, Gerard thinks, accepting a glass of the vodka mixed with some soda Ray had in his fridge and taking a drink. It isn't great, but it’ll do the job. He takes a seat on Ray’s couch with his legs curled up on the seat next to him, listening to his friends argue over who’s going to be the driver tonight and why it should be Frank because he’s the youngest and he isn't even legally allowed to drink yet _anyway_.

“Mikey’s nineteen!” Frank argues, coming to sit down on the couch next to Gerard, who uncurls his legs to make more room for Frank. It’s kind of counter-productive, considering Frank takes advantage of the added space and sits _right_ next to Gerard, Ray on his other side and Mikey in the chair by the TV. “Look, why are we even talking about this? We could just stay over at Pete’s.”

Mikey makes a face at that. Gerard, noticing, laughs out loud. His brother flips him off.

“I mean, I guess,” Ray says. “It’s not like we’d be the only ones. Plus,” he looks at Mikey and raises his eyebrows.

Mikey groans. “Not you too.”

Ray raises his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I’m just saying, since we’re with you, we’re probably the least likely to get kicked out.”

Mikey’s expression is sullen. “Fine. I hope you like sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s not like that’s something _you’ll_ have to worry about, lover boy,” Frank teases, and Mikey throws his cup at his head.

They’re at Ray’s apartment for about three hours and Gerard is pleasantly buzzed by the time they pile into the car to head over to Pete’s. He and Frank are relegated to the backseat, because _apparently_ Ray has a rule that seats are assigned by height and not by whoever called shotgun, even though Gerard was _totally_ first, and also, Mikey’s the only one who actually knows where they’re going, so he has to be in the passenger seat to give directions.

Gerard wonders if he’s having a weird reaction to the drinks he had at Ray’s place because as he’s stuck in the backseat for fifteen minutes with Frank refusing to put on a seatbelt and moving around all the time and talking like he thinks if he stops he’s never going to be able to speak again, he feels like there’s something light and airy and disconcerting dancing around behind his diaphragm. It gets worse when they pull up to the little house where Party City Pete and his roommates live and Frank leans across Gerard to peer out the window and Gerard finds himself with his breath caught in his throat like he’s nervous or something.

He’s not nervous. Why would he be nervous?

Ray parks the car. “I hate driving with you assholes,” he announces, shutting off the engine. “Not you, Mikey.”

“I know,” Mikey replies, getting out of the car.

Gerard stares at him blankly. “What did _I_ do?”

Ray makes a face and opens his door. “Actually, you know what, nothing, really. You’re fine. I hate driving with Frank.”

Frank, still leaning over Gerard to look out the window, reaches down and opens the door on Gerard’s side. “I didn’t do shit,” he says to Ray, then to Gerard, “Are you gonna –”

“Yeah,” Gerard replies, getting out, with Frank following closely behind him. “You could’ve gone out the other side.”

Frank shrugs. “Busy street. I’m little, I could get run over.”

Ray sighs gustily. “And you weren’t concerned with dying in the car when you were bouncing off the fucking walls? My visibility sucks when you’re pulling shit like that.”

“Who knows,” Frank says sagely. “Maybe it was a ploy to get you to let me ride shotgun next time.”

“Maybe it backfired and next time you’re riding back in the trunk,” Ray retorts.

“You love me.”

“I do, which is why I don’t want you dead.”

“This is so touching,” Mikey interrupts, “and as much as I’m enjoying seeing the two of you argue over how much you love each other, are we going to do that on the lawn for the rest of the night?”

They head towards the house, and not five minutes after they’re inside, Gerard remembers why he doesn’t normally go to parties with Mikey. There are approximately ten million people crammed into the entryway of the house alone, and as Mikey’s beanpole of a body weaves through the crowds with Ray on his heels, Gerard follows along closely in Ray’s wake to avoid having to shove through anyone himself.

He feels a tug on his jacket and looks around. He knows it’s packed, and it was probably an accident, but he looks anyway.

Frank’s hand is gripping the back of Gerard’s jacket, making them form a little train. “Sorry,” Frank says, stepping a little bit more quickly to move closer to Gerard as they continue walking to stay with Ray. He has to raise his voice a little to be heard, but it’s still faint, so he continues, more directly into Gerard’s ear, “It’s easier to not get separated like this.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Gerard answers, throwing a smile over his shoulder at Frank. “I don’t know what we’d do if any of us got lost.”

After what seems like a lifetime, they manage to make it into the living room/kitchen/main area where people are significantly more dispersed.

“What the fuck,” Ray says, all in a rush of an exhale like he’d been holding his breath all the way through the hall. “There’s so much room over here, can they not cram into the single tiniest space in the house?”

“People like to be close,” a voice says, and Gerard looks around to see Party City Pete suddenly appearing next to Mikey, who only spares him the briefest of glances. “You know, the juxtaposition of being in a space surrounded with so many people but also somehow finding intimacy among the crowds.”

“I don’t think that’s what juxtaposition means,” Gerard says, and Frank laughs.

“Whatever,” Pete says, waving a hand through the air carelessly. “You know what I mean. Anyway, glad you guys could _finally_ make it, Mikey’s always busy, right?”

There’s a beat, and Ray says, “Right,” as though to fill the gap in the conversation. “I’m gonna get a drink, does anyone want anything?”

“Not really,” Gerard says, “but I’m coming with you anyway.”

Gerard follows Ray to the table by the kitchen where there’s a haphazard, messy drink setup, noting Frank watching them go with a pleading, alarmed expression on his face at the thought of being left with Mikey and Pete.

It’s not five minutes later when Frank appears at Gerard’s elbow, a somewhat sour expression on his face. “Your brother is gross,” he says in response to Gerard’s questioning glance. “They disappeared together. We haven’t even been here for fifteen minutes.”

Gerard grimaces. “Oh, fuck, that’s – I don’t need to think about that.”

They get drinks and end up clustered in a free corner of one of the couches in the living room, Frank sitting on the arm of the couch next to Gerard’s spot. His leg keeps brushing against Gerard’s arm, but it’s whatever, it isn't like there’s room for either of them to move anywhere else. Ray’s right against Gerard’s other side, pressed in as close as he can to give the couple making out on the other end of the couch some space. Eventually, Mikey reappears, Pete on his heels with a grin on his face that Gerard doesn’t want to interpret but, fucking unfortunately, can easily. His brother sits down in a chair that’s vacated approximately one second before his entrance into the room, raising his eyebrows at Gerard as he does.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Mikey says, before anyone else can say anything. Pete sits down on the arm of his chair.

“Dude,” Ray says, laughing. “Seriously?”

Mikey shrugs. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Pete, frowning, asks, “What does that mean?”

Mikey turns to him, and Gerard is equal parts baffled, impressed, and disgusted by the fucking _velvet_ in his brother’s tone when he leans in closer to Pete and says, “Hey, babe, is it okay if my friends and I crash here tonight? Just, you know, I don’t want us to have to drive back after a party. You never know how safe on the road other people are going to be.”

Next to Gerard, Frank lets a tiny, high pitched giggle escape and immediately clamps a hand over his own mouth.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Pete replies earnestly. “Patrick’s out of town, you guys can crash in his room,” he adds, turning to the rest of the Staples crew.

Ray, speaking loudly to be heard over Frank, who’s fully collapsed into laughter, turning his body to face more inwards on the couch and resting his elbow on Gerard’s shoulder as he fucking hides behind him, says, “Thanks, man, we really appreciate it, even if _some_ of us,” he glares in Frank’s direction, Frank doesn’t notice, “are rude as hell.”

“Frankie, shut _up_ ,” Gerard says under his breath. Frank sits up, a small but more managed smile on his face, the support Gerard’s been providing with his shoulder shifting from Frank’s elbow to his hand as he turns back to the conversation.

“Sorry,” Frank says, looking at Pete, “this is just so embarrassing.” Gerard hits Frank on the leg. “Ow!”

“Yes, it is,” Mikey replies flatly. “You’re a very embarrassing person.”

Frank grins at Mikey. “Let’s change the subject! Party City Pete, is your _boss_ here?”

“Did you just call me Party City Pete?” Pete asks incredulously. “Dude, do you even _know_ another Pete?”

“No, but it’s fun. Would you rather I called you PCP?”

Pete frowns. “Please don’t. My boss is here.”

“What, Gabe doesn’t know why you’re called PCP?”

Pete rolls his eyes. “I think he can figure it out, Frank.”

“He can figure what out?” comes the voice of someone who Gerard can only assume is Gabe, Pete’s boss. He’s so tall that Gerard has to crane his neck up to actually look at his face. Part of this might be due to sitting down, but he swears this dude is even taller than Ray. “Are these your friends, Pete?”

Pete stares at Gabe, then says, “This is my house, dude, everyone here’s my friend.”

“Really?” Gabe replies, somewhat skeptically. He looks around the room, and points at someone randomly. “Who’s that?”

“Why don’t you ask them?” Mikey says dryly.

“It’s a quiz. Pete, if you get this right, you don’t have to open tomorrow.”

Pete leans out, away from the chair, and looks in the direction where Gabe is pointing. “That’s Cortez from Guitar Center.”

Frank’s hand, still on Gerard’s shoulder, disappears for a second and Gerard turns to look up at him. Frank clenches his hand into a fist and then puts it back down on Gerard’s shoulder, like a softer version of slamming a fist down on a table in anger. “Guitar Center…” he says under his breath, eyes narrowed.

“Dude, I don’t know why you’re even holding a grudge against them,” Ray interrupts, noticing Frank’s motion. “They didn’t hire you because they weren’t _hiring_.”

“Sure,” Frank replies, somewhat sarcastically. “That’s what they want you to think.”

Ray rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that no one can catch, but Gerard gets the gist.

The party moves as parties that Gerard goes to with Mikey tend to do – in waves. People are everywhere and Gerard doesn’t pay much attention to them, other than the ones sitting on either side of him. Eventually, the couch opens up more and Ray scoots over to the other side, but Gerard stays where he is, with Frank still perched next to him and using his shoulder as an armrest. Gerard doesn’t drink a lot, he doesn’t really want to, but the hours slip by and eventually he finds himself outside, a cigarette in his right hand and a can of beer in his left, watching a truly disastrous event unfold in front of him.

Someone – Gerard doesn’t know who – had had the idea of playing some stupid game that they’d seen once. Mikey stands on one end of the yard and Ray stands on the other, both of them holding their own cans of beer and wearing determined expressions.

“Okay,” Gabe says, in between the two of them, “the game is High Noon. Here are the rules.”

“This is gonna be a shitshow,” Frank says next to Gerard. He’s grinning.

“I know,” Gerard replies. “I’m fucking pumped for it.”

“Two players stand ten paces apart! They both have a full can of beer! Part one of the game is to be the fastest to chug. Part two – you crush the can on your head. Part three! Chuck the can at your opponent and the first person to make a hit wins!”

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Toro,” Mikey calls from across the ten paces.

“I’d like to see you try it, Way,” Ray replies, popping the tab on his beer.

Mikey’s eyes haven’t left Ray’s face. Gerard thinks he’s never seen his brother look this focused. He takes a drag of his cigarette and, almost unconsciously, passes it to Frank. “Oh,” Frank says, his voice small and happy, “thanks.”

“Yeah,” Gerard replies, that weird feeling in his chest again. “Of course.”

“I’m tired of waiting,” Mikey says loudly. “Count us off, Gabe.”

“Jesus, you’d think they were actually about to kill each other,” Frank remarks, his voice all tight from his inhale. He holds the smoke until Gerard looks at him, and then blows it in his face. “This is so suspenseful.”

Gerard isn't annoyed by the smoke in his face, which is weird in itself. Mikey’s done this when he’s been trying to purposely irritate Gerard, and it always works, but after Frank does it, Gerard finds himself laughing a little and waving it away.

“You’re annoying,” he says, but he knows Frank can tell he doesn’t mean it. “Stop distracting me, I want to see what happens.”

He turns back to Ray and Mikey’s showdown – Gabe’s already given them a countdown and everyone in the backyard is cheering as they chug their drinks. “Oh, I’m _so_ sorry for being a distraction,” Frank says to Gerard’s left, his voice low and intentional, quiet enough that Gerard’s the only person who could possibly hear him, and there’s something in his tone that makes Gerard’s throat catch.

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat and has the half-formed thought of _what does he_ and then _oh_.

It’s like something clicks into place, and he turns to look at Frank, his mouth slightly open, just as Mikey yells, “HA!” and throws his crushed beer can with frightening speed across the yard at Ray, but Gerard isn't paying attention to them.

“Frank,” he says, and he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. It sounds like he hasn’t used it in hours.

Frank won’t stop looking at him. “Gerard.”

Gerard opens his mouth to say something else, he doesn’t know what, but there’s a sudden, sharp burst of bright pain on the side of his head and he’s vaguely aware of something colliding with the side of his face and Ray’s voice saying, “ _Shit_!”

It’s fucking pathetic, but he falls over. He falls over after letting out something halfway between a string of swear words mashed together and an _ow ow ow_ and he hears Frank yelling, “Jesus _Christ_ , Toro, where the fuck did you learn to throw?”

“Mikey fucking _moved_!” Ray is shouting back, there’s laughing in the background, and Ray’s voice gets closer. “Fuck, Gerard, I’m so sorry, shit.”

There’s a cut on Gerard’s forehead, that much he can tell, and through the blood dripping down into his eye, he can see Ray’s worried face hovering over him.

“It’s okay,” Gerard says. “I mean, fuck, it hurts, but I’m fine, I promise.”

“Shit,” Mikey’s voice says, and he’s standing behind Ray. “Does this mean I win, since Ray fucked up an innocent bystander?”

“Thanks for your concern, Mikey,” Gerard says dryly, and his brother grins at him quickly before tossing his crushed beer can at Ray. It bounces off his shoulder.

Frank is kneeling down next to Gerard, peering at the cut on his forehead. “Shit. You’re a mess. Come on.” He grabs Gerard’s hand and pulls him to his feet.

“Come on where?” Gerard asks. Frank hasn’t let go of his hand, but Gerard’s more focused on blinking blood out of his right eye than anything else.

“The bathroom, you idiot,” Frank says, and starts to drag him into the house.

On the way, Gerard’s brain runs through everything that just happened at a lightning-fast speed. Here’s the thing. He’s pretty sure that Frank had been flirting with him outside. He’s less sure – but still significantly sure – that Frank, whose behavior has been pretty consistent with what just happened for the month that they’ve known each other, has been flirting with him for a while. He’s _very_ sure that either way, he’s been an idiot about this.

Despite this, Gerard thinks that Frank’s grip on his hand is most likely due to Gerard not being able to fucking see out of one eye, since he’s really relying on Frank to guide him through the house. They shove past people in the hallways and end up in the little bathroom tucked between the bedrooms, this part of the house somewhat quieter than everything else.

Gerard doesn’t know what it is about bathrooms during parties; there’s always a strange, muted quality to everything in there. He feels like it’s a space where time ceases to exist, and when Frank sits him down on the edge of the bathtub and takes his hat off for him and frowns at the cut on his forehead, Gerard has an aching in his chest that makes him feel like they’re the only two people in existence.

“How the fuck did he manage to get it under the brim of your stupid little hat,” Frank says under his breath, his voice disgruntled but affectionate, rummaging under the sink and emerging a moment later with a washcloth, which he runs under the sink for a moment, a bottle of antiseptic, some cotton balls, and a bunch of band-aids. “This is gonna look like a mess.”

“It’s okay,” Gerard says softly. Gerard has one leg inside the bathtub and one on the outside, on the tile, and Frank sits down on the edge of the tub as well, almost between his legs.

Gerard, almost unconsciously, scoots closer. Frank stays where he is, a little frown on his face, and then he tucks Gerard’s hair behind his ear where it’s started to fall in his face and starts to clean the blood away with the washcloth.

They’re silent for a few minutes. Gerard can hear a stupid Backstreet Boys song playing outside in the main room, it must have reached the part of the night where people stopped caring enough about what was playing to complain about hearing Top 40. He doesn’t break the silence, he doesn’t think he _can_ without Frank hearing the traitorous fucking beating of his heart that he’s sure Frank can see jumping in his throat.

Gerard’s thoughts are all over the fucking place, a constant stream of _what does he want what does he want what does he want what does he want what does he_ – when Frank suddenly speaks.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Frank says, setting the washcloth down on the counter next to the bathtub. Slowly, methodically, he unscrews the cap of the antiseptic bottle and places a cotton ball on the opening, tilting it over to pour a little bit out onto the little piece of fluff.

Gerard watches his hands.

“I know,” Gerard manages, even though he doesn’t know. “Why?”

Frank, who’s been looking down at what he’s been doing, reaches up and presses the cotton ball to the cut above Gerard’s eyebrow. He hisses a little at the sudden sting, and the corner of Frank’s mouth twitches.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

There’s another beat.

“Why?” Gerard ventures again.

“You shouldn’t have been standing there,” Frank says.

“How was I supposed to know that Ray can’t throw for shit?”

“I don’t know,” Frank replies. He takes the cotton ball off of Gerard’s forehead and sets it aside as well, pulling out a band-aid from the box. It’s a Spider-Man one. “I just know that if you hadn’t been standing there, I wouldn’t be patching up your idiot ass in Party City Pete’s bathroom.”

“I was going to go next, actually,” Gerard says, only aware in that moment that this is what he’d actually been thinking. He’s stupid about some things, but he’s realizing, with Frank’s fingers brushing his hair out of his face again and gently putting a band-aid over his cut, that little frown back between his eyebrows, he wasn’t stupid about how Frank had looked at him outside and how he’s looking at him now.

“Why – you’re stupid,” Frank says again. “What, did you want to look cool?”

“Yeah,” Gerard replies, and he looks down at Frank’s mouth, at his stupid lip ring, at the smile starting to curl around his lips.

“I think you already had enough,” Frank says.

Gerard drags his gaze back up to meet his eyes, and Frank is looking at him like how he had outside, and Gerard says, “No, I’m fine,” and Frank sucks in a breath, just slightly.

Gerard isn't sure which one of them moved first, but the next thing that he’s fully aware of is that they’re kissing. They’re kissing and Frank has moved closer to Gerard, actually between his legs, he has a hand tangled in Gerard’s hair, the one that had been close to his face anyway, from putting on the band-aid, and Gerard doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he ends up with one of them on Frank’s side, where he’d turned his body more towards Gerard, the other braced on the bathtub faucet for balance.

It’s awkward and weird for one second that seems to last for a lifetime, in that moment when everything is shaky and it’s _almost_ still at the point where you could take it back if you wanted to, but then Frank sighs into Gerard’s mouth, just a little bit, and he tastes like cigarettes and something sweet that Gerard thinks is just _Frank_ , and something in Gerard’s chest falls into place.

Time doesn’t pass in the bathrooms at parties, but apparently it does outside, because as Gerard shifts in his position a little bit to balance better, as he sneaks the hand on Frank’s side under his shirt and moves his other off the faucet, bringing it up to the side of Frank’s neck, there’s a knock on the fucking door.

“Shit,” Gerard gasps, breaking the kiss, and Frank jumps back from him like he’d been shocked.

“Are you guys okay?” comes Ray’s voice from the other side of the door. “Gee, I’m so sorry, do you need me to take you home?”

“Uh,” Gerard says, and his heart is fucking _hammering_ through his ribs, he’s sure Frank can see it, can’t he see it? Frank is looking at Gerard with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open, and fuck, Gerard wants to kiss him again. “Can you drive?”

“Yeah,” Ray says, “yeah, I’m good.”

Gerard gets up, holding out a hand for Frank to stand as well. They let go of each other, and now Frank won’t look at him anymore.

Gerard opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha oof!


	6. week five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! again, i just want to say thank you so so so much to everyone who's been enjoying this so far and offering such kind words on this project of mine. it really truly means so much to me. i need to go through and respond to comments!! please forgive me for the time being, i do see them but i've been having writing this on the brain so i haven't been replying as much!
> 
> i especially want to say a MASSIVE thank you to my beta, projektgerard on twitter. she is such a good friend and i really love our planning sessions, they truly make staples possible!!!!
> 
> a warning - from this chapter onwards there is adult content. i think i'm going to have to adjust the rating, but i have to review the recommendations for what works. i think mature is good for this chapter but depending on how the next chapter goes. well.
> 
> anyway, i just wanted to give a heads up on this!! i really appreciate everyone who's taken the time to read this and let me know your thoughts. i love you all very much <3
> 
> come say hi to me!
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

“Dude, are you okay?”

Frank looks up from the laminator, jumping a little bit. Mikey’s looking at him, brow furrowed, like Frank’s been doing something weird for a while and hasn’t noticed.

To be honest, that could very easily be the case. It’s been a hot minute since Frank came to work _this_ level of stoned, and he hasn’t been paying attention to anything but the stack of shit in front of the laminator that’s needed to be run through and the thoughts bouncing around in his head for the past two hours.

“What?” Frank asks, his voice coming out somewhat thickly. Mikey shakes his head a little, but in an invitatory way, as though waiting for Frank to elaborate. “I’m fine, Mikey, just. Long day.”

“Uh huh,” Mikey replies skeptically, crossing his arms. “You know, you haven’t said a word to me since I got here two hours ago.”

“Oh.”

Mikey stares at him blankly. “ _Oh_? That’s it? Fucking _oh_? Jesus _Christ_ , Frank, what happened at school?”

Frank shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. Mikey sort of throws his hands in the air and hops over the counter, probably to find Ray and talk shit.

He puts another piece of paper through the laminator. It’s some shit for a nearby elementary school, something for their hallways, telling the kids to not run and to be nice and shit like that. Frank hasn’t read a single word on the posters; this is the third order that he’s been working on tonight. He’s not sure he should be the one cutting out the posters from the excess plastic later, once they’re all completely coated, given his lack of a brain right now, but who the fuck else is going to do it? Besides, it’ll give him more time to think.

It’s not that Frank needs _time_ to think. He’s been doing nothing but thinking for the past two days.

He was totally out of it at band practice yesterday, to the point where everyone just left early because Frank couldn’t pull his shit together. He fucking _wishes_ he’d been able to pull his shit together, he feels bad enough wasting everyone’s time, but for the life of him he hasn’t been able to think about anything but what happened on Saturday night.

He doesn’t know how he feels about it.

That’s not exactly true. Frank knows how he feels about _Gerard_ specifically and he knows some facts that happened. He knows that he’s been noticing his stupid heartbeat speeding up when Gerard is around for a few weeks now. He knows that Gerard makes him laugh more than anyone else and Gerard isn't even that funny. He knows that he likes sitting next to Gerard and brushing his stupid, too-long hair out of his face and he _knows_ that he liked when Gerard kissed him, he knows that he was _waiting_ for it and _wanting_ it and that if Gerard hadn’t moved Frank was going to.

He knows that Mikey stayed at Pete’s after they left the bathroom and Ray drove them back to his place and they’d sat in the car for a minute so they could figure out if Gerard was good to drive home or if he needed to stay over at Ray’s or be dropped off or something. He knows Gerard had decided he was good to drive and he’d offered to take Frank home because they were already at Ray’s place and there wasn’t a point in Ray continuing to drive around. Frank knows he hadn’t been able to look at Gerard the entire drive back to his house – in fact, he hadn’t been able to look at Gerard since they’d stopped kissing – because he’d been able to feel his heartbeat in every single one of his extremities, and he hadn’t known if he was more scared or turned on. Because he hadn’t known what to make of what just happened. Because he hadn’t known what it meant for _him_ and what it meant for _Gerard_ and if it was just because they were drinking or if it meant something more.

He knows Gerard had stopped the car in front of Frank’s house and had said, “So –”

He knows he’d cut Gerard off with another kiss.

He knows they made out in Gerard’s car for at least half an hour, the stupid console between the two front seats causing a major inconvenience when Frank had tried to climb over it and into Gerard’s lap, and the steering wheel had been digging into his back but Gerard had had a hand in his hair and had, in one moment of vivid fucking clarity, licked a stripe up Frank’s throat and sucked a little rosy spot under his jaw, and they hadn’t stopped until Frank accidentally leaned against the horn and startled them both.

“Shit,” Frank had said, and Gerard had looked at him with a question in his eyes that Frank hadn’t been able to decipher but can still feel sitting in his chest. “I have to go.”

And he’d left out the driver’s side door.

Frank had practically ran for the basement door, fumbling with his stupid key on his stupid choker (why the fuck had he thought it was a good idea to put his _house key_ on a _choker_ , of all things?) to get inside his stupid house, Gerard sitting there in his car on the street, probably still in shock from what just happened, and oh, god, what had just _happened_ , Frank’s mouth had still been tingling with the immediacy of Gerard’s kisses and he’d been fucking _achingly_ hard, to the point where it was making him so distracted that he’d had a difficult time getting inside the house.

He finally had, though. Frank had then proceeded to, over the course of the next day and a half, jerk off to the memory of making out with Gerard more times than he’d like to admit (seven).

Now, in Staples, standing in front of the laminator and watching it whir through its tasks, with Gerard at the registers at the front of the store, Frank wonders if Gerard has been thinking about Saturday night as much as he has.

Gerard sits next to Frank in Subway. He always does this. He always sits with Frank on the same side of the little four-top that they always claim when they go on their lunch break with Mikey and Ray, and their legs always brush together under the table, but today it’s different.

Frank is fucking vibrating every time Gerard moves and they (accidentally? Frank isn't sure) touch. Ray is talking about the short film he’s putting together for one of his final projects this semester and Mikey is stealing his cucumbers and Gerard’s leg moves as he leans forward to get a napkin and Frank feels like every single one of his nerves has just ingested approximately three thousand milliliters of caffeine.

He can’t help it. He makes a weird sound somewhere in his throat.

Gerard glances over at him, just barely, as he’s coming back to his previous position, and this fucker, the corner of Gerard’s mouth twitches a little bit, and Frank can tell that he _knows_.

He doesn’t move his leg away.

“…So anyway,” Ray is saying, and Frank tries to steady his breathing. “I think we should have a movie night. Are you guys busy this weekend? You could come over after we close on Friday.”

Mikey laughs a little. “Don’t we see each other enough as it is?”

Ray, looking a little hurt, replies, “I mean, if you don’t want to, but I think it’ll be fun.”

“I’m in,” Gerard says, and his leg moves, but not _away_ , more like in a nudge. Frank risks cutting his eyes over to Gerard, who is looking resolutely across the table at Ray.

“Really?” Mikey asks, frowning. “Apparently that party did wonders for you. Two weekends in a row?”

“You don’t have to be mean, Mikey.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “What about you, Frankie? I’m assuming you’re in, but, you know, you’ve been so quiet today that I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

Frank barely trusts himself to speak. What the fuck is the matter with him? It’s Gerard’s _leg_ , it isn't like this is anything new. They’ve touched before. He needs to get a grip on himself.

“Yeah,” he says, and is extremely relieved that his words are coming out normally. “Yeah, I’m in. As long as we watch something good.”

“We could marathon Star Wars,” Ray and Gerard say at the exact same time, and then immediately point at each other and go, “Hey!” while laughing.

“As long as you don’t make me dress up like you did for seeing the last movie in the theaters, that’s fine with me,” Mikey says. “I’m not wearing a Luke Skywalker outfit for the entire time at Ray’s.”

Frank, to distract himself from Gerard sitting next to him, sneaks his hand across the table towards the little pile of cucumbers sitting on Ray’s sandwich paper, knowing he’s going to get his hand smacked. He does. “Ow.”

“Thief,” Ray says mildly, then picks up a cucumber and does a little mock throwing motion until Frank gets his intention and opens his mouth so Ray can toss it in. Frank catches the cucumber, and after his throw, Ray looks at his watch. “We have to go.”

They leave and start to walk back to Staples. There’s only room for two people to walk side by side on the sidewalk, and Mikey and Ray fall into the first row, bickering lightly about which movies to watch on Friday night – Mikey wants to rotate through everyone’s personal movie choices, while Ray has gotten attached to the Star Wars marathon idea and is stubbornly clinging to it. Gerard had fallen back a little, putting on his hat by the door to Subway, despite the fact that they’re only walking back to Staples and he’s going to have to take it off inside again. Frank made a big show out of lingering somewhere near him, waiting for Gerard so that they can walk together, putting his hood up as well so that he had a reason to wait.

Gerard grins at him as he starts to walk. “How’re you doing, Frankie?”

Frank doesn’t know how to answer right away. This is the first thing that Gerard’s said directly to him since Frank left his car on Saturday night.

“Oh, fuck you,” he finally manages after a beat, the words coming out in a stupid, hushed tone. He’s surprised at the low tone of his own voice. Gerard’s grin, if possible, becomes even more shit-eating.

Gerard raises an eyebrow and speeds up to catch up with Mikey and Ray.

Shit. Frank is so fucked.

“Hey, Mikey?”

It’s Wednesday afternoon. Mikey looks up from the magazine he’s flipping through at PMS. He sighs, a long-suffering one, like he can read the expression on Frank’s face and can tell what the fuck he’s about to say. “Yes, Frank?”

Frank grimaces. Fuck. “Actually – never mind. I should probably ask Ray instead.”

Mikey puts down his magazine at that. “Okay, fuck, now I’m curious. You can’t just leave me in suspense like that. Also, it’s not like I wouldn’t just get Ray to tell me afterwards, anyway.”

“Just. Look, it’s weird! You probably won’t want to hear it.”

“Well, how will I _know_ if you don’t _tell_ me?”

Frank can feel his face heating up. He fucking hates that he blushes easily, hates that every single one of his emotions is so fucking easily readable in his face, hates that Mikey is looking at him with a quizzical, apprehensive expression that Frank _knows_ is going to shift as soon as he says what he has to say, but _fuck_ , he has to talk to _someone_ about it.

He sighs, rubs a hand over his face, and begins, “Okay, do you think it’s weird –”

“Yes,” Mikey interrupts. Frank glares at him. “Sorry,” Mikey says, smiling. “Go ahead.”

Frank looks around quickly, to make sure no one’s around except for him and Mikey, even going so far as to get on his tiptoes to get a better vantage point and make sure Ray and, more importantly, Gerard, aren’t within earshot.

“Do you think it’s weird,” he begins in a hushed tone, his insides squirming, “that I had a. I had a s –”

“Oh no,” Mikey interrupts again, and Frank has no idea how he can already tell where Frank is going, but Mikey’s expression is murderous. “Don’t say it. Don’t you _fucking_ say it.”

“I had a sex dream about Gerard!” Frank blurts out.

“God _dammit_!” Mikey practically shouts. “Why did you tell _me_ , he’s my _brother_!”

“I _know_ , I should’ve told Ray!”

“I hate you,” Mikey says. There’s no sincerity behind the words, but there is a sullenness to his tone. “If you tell me what happened in the dream, I will kill you and make it look like an accident.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Frank assures him, and Mikey relaxes a bit. “But, I mean –”

“No,” Mikey cuts him off. “If you want to learn anything about my brother and if your dream was accurate, go ask him yourself.”

“Why would I do that,” Frank replies, trying to keep his expression neutral, but he knows he’s being betrayed by the warmth in his cheeks.

“Look, Frank, Gerard may be stupid about this sort of thing, but I’m not.” Mikey pauses for a minute, before continuing, after Frank remains silent, his voice robotic in a way that expresses both his hatred for this subject and how little patience he has left with Frank, “Did something happen that prompted you to have this dream about Gerard.”

“No,” Frank lies. “That’s why it was so weird.”

“Uh huh,” Mikey says. Frank doesn’t like how skeptical he looks. “Look, Frank, the thing about Gerard is –”

“What makes you think I need to hear _the thing about Gerard_?”

Mikey gives Frank a look like he’s never met anyone with a smaller brain in his life. “Can you please just listen to me? I know you’re in denial, or whatever, but even if Gerard hasn’t noticed, I have, and so has Ray. And I care about you, so I’m gonna tell you this: Gerard’s in a shitty place right now. Emotionally. Also, physically, because he’s at Staples, but mostly emotionally. Gerard is _brilliant._ He has a BFA. He worked really hard to get it. And he’s working at fucking _Staples_. He does not feel good about himself. He probably will not feel good about you, and whatever might… happen… he won’t feel like he deserves it. Not enough to let himself have anything nice. And I don’t want to see either of you get hurt, so.”

Frank stares. This is the most he’s heard Mikey speak in a single stretch for the entire time they’ve known each other.

“Nothing happened,” Frank says softly, and despite his lies, this time Mikey seems to believe him.

“Okay,” Mikey replies. “And, look, it’s not like I can stop you from whatever it is that you might want to do, like, you’re your own person and so is he, but I care about you both and… you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” Mikey sighs. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do, I just. I don’t want – I don’t think he’s ready.”

Frank wants to ask what _Gerard_ thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut and nods.

Keeping his mouth shut forces Frank’s thoughts to circle back to the entire reason that he’d started the conversation with Mikey. Frank had come home on Monday night all fucking wound up over how Gerard had barely said a word to him all day, he’d barely fucking _acknowledged_ Frank, and it had been driving Frank insane. It’s still happening, and it’s still driving Frank insane, but apparently it had been a lot to deal with on Monday night. He hadn’t been able to find a single thing that he could focus on the entire night, and had ended up staring at the ceiling, just fucking _thinking_ and being frustrated until he gave up and jerked off and fell asleep.

The dream had been… something. It was fairly vague, enough so that Frank can’t remember much of it, but he’d woken up with a tense feeling low in his belly like someone had lit a fire inside him, thinking about Gerard’s mouth ghosting over his skin and how he’d give anything to suck Gerard off at that exact moment.

Gerard’s tongue in his mouth on Saturday night had made it hard enough to look him in the eye at their place of employment, but after having a dream in which the hickey that had rapidly faded from Frank’s throat after their brief, late night tryst had been far from the only mark left on his skin, Frank is having an even harder time keeping his breath steady.

This isn't helped by Gerard coming up to him when there’s about an hour and a half left in their shift and asking, “Hey, I’m going for a smoke, do you want to come?”

“Yeah,” Frank replies, fucking too immediately, he hates himself, and ignores the way Mikey’s eyebrows are going up next to him. “Mikey, do you –”

“No,” Mikey replies decisively.

They go outside and they smoke. That’s it. That’s all there is. They’re in the loading area behind the store, lit by a small overhead light above the door, an empty can of Coke that Gerard uses as a makeshift ashtray – because Brian has a problem with ash and cigarette butts by the door – holding the door open a crack so that they’re not locked out.

Frank can’t stop looking at Gerard. He has this black jacket on and he’s leaning against the wall, head tilted back a little bit and Frank can see the little scab where he’d been hit with Ray’s beer can, which looks better but is still the only physical mark from that night that remains, and he’s holding his cigarette in that strange way he does, with his hand open and his fingers spread out, and Frank feels like he’s going insane.

“Can I –” he begins, and Gerard looks over to him. He clears his throat and fumbles a little with his pack of smokes, pulling one out. “Can I get a light?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, stepping over to Frank, who’s already put his own cigarette in his mouth. Frank waits, expecting Gerard to pull out his lighter, but he just… he hesitates for a moment, one hand fluttering down to a pocket like he’s _going_ to, but then he steps forward further, fully into Frank’s space, and touches the end of the lit cigarette in his mouth to the unlit one in Frank’s.

Frank sucks in a breath. “Thanks,” he says as Gerard steps back after seeing a little wisp of smoke rising from Frank’s cigarette.

“Anytime,” Gerard replies.

They’re quiet for the rest of the time outside. Frank says some things that he doesn’t remember. Shit about school and his band and a stupid customer he’d just had to deal with.

He wants to ask Gerard what’s going on. He wants to ask if Gerard had meant it when they’d kissed or if it had just been because of the moment and because of the drinking and because of the injury. Frank isn't stupid and he’s not naïve, he knows that just because you kissed someone, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re into you in any way other than physically, and even that’s up in the air sometimes.

Frank just knows that if it’s up to him, he wants to kiss Gerard again.

He doesn’t ask about any of these things. Gerard says, “Ray’s is gonna be fun,” and Frank jumps a little; they’ve been so quiet that the sound of Gerard speaking at a perfectly normal volume throws him off.

“Yeah, I think so,” Frank replies. He wants to say something else, but he can’t think of anything.

Gerard seems to be experiencing the same issue, because he frowns, looks off to the side, and tugs the hand that doesn’t have a cigarette in it through his hair before he says, “Look, Frank, I –”

The door swings open with a bang.

Frank’s so pissed at Gerard being interrupted that he wants to kick the fucking wall.

“I do not pay you to stand around and smoke,” Brian’s voice says, and Frank turns around to see their manager standing there, looking pissed and exhausted. “ _Please_ , for the love of god, go back inside and do your jobs.”

Frank looks back at Gerard.

“I’ll tell you later, I guess,” Gerard says, then drops his cigarette into the Coke can and heads back inside.

Gerard doesn’t get a chance to tell Frank later. Whatever he’d wanted to say, it had apparently been something that he didn’t want to say around other people, and Frank hasn’t been alone with him since that Wednesday afternoon.

It’s Friday now, and Frank thinks this has been the longest week of his fucking life. He honestly can’t remember a single second of his shift today; he’s been counting down the hours in five-minute increments to make the passage of time more manageable. Gerard had come into the store looking exhausted and bundled up in like seventeen jackets and he’d sneezed when he was putting his shit in the break room and Frank had wanted to kiss him until they both ran out of breath.

He hadn’t. Mikey and Ray had also been there.

But he’d sat on the table, kicking his legs out and focusing on the swinging motion in an attempt to make sure his dumb fucking heart didn’t speed up when Gerard inevitably turned around and smiled at him, and it didn’t work, but what the hell, Frank can’t fault himself for trying.

He’d grinned back, stupidly, and listened to Ray talking about their plans for tonight.

Now, hours later, they’ve closed the store and Brian is waving at them through the locked front doors. Mikey is riding with Ray to his place because Gerard, woefully unprepared as always, forgot to pack his shit for staying the night and has to run home.

“God, I feel like a third grader going to a sleepover,” Gerard says, standing next to his car with his arms crossed and resting on the roof, looking over it at Frank and his car, parked next to him. Ray and Mikey have already left, following Frank’s assurance that he knows how to get to Ray’s place, and it’s just the two of them left in the parking lot.

Frank, words coming out of his mouth before he thinks about them, replies, “I fucking hope this isn't the same as a third grade sleepover, those aren’t nearly as fun.”

Stupid. Why the fuck would he try to lead up to some sort of euphemism somewhere along the lines of an _adult sleepover_? Frank still hasn’t figured out if that’s something that Gerard even _wants_ , at least with _him_ , and yet here he is, making suggestive comments with the worst fucking structure possible. Jesus Christ, he should know that saying dumb shit like this isn't going to make his chances of getting in Gerard’s pants any better.

“Well, you know,” Gerard replies, clearly not noticing the stupid, involuntary blush that’s now high on Frank’s cheeks, “we _are_ watching Star Wars, so. We aren’t that far off.”

“Yeah, but we’re also drinking,” Frank counters. “We can still paint our nails and braid each other’s hair and shit, but it’s automatically going to be more interesting.”

Gerard grins at him. “I mean, I’m sure the potential drinking games are going to be a time, but I for one can’t wait to see your fun little pajamas.”

“Fuck off,” Frank replies, waving a dismissive hand through the air at Gerard, and gets in his car to drive to Ray’s. He hears Gerard laugh as he shuts the door and tries not to smile so fucking obviously as he puts his car in reverse and heads out.

Frank gets to Ray’s apartment in ten minutes and makes his way upstairs, letting himself in after Ray’s voice calling, “It’s open!” from somewhere inside.

“Dude,” Frank says when he’s fully in the apartment and has tossed his bag on the kitchen table. “I could’ve been a murderer.”

Ray shrugs, looking over his shoulder from where he stands at the kitchen counter, pouring several boxes of macaroni into a pot of boiling water. “I’ll take my chances, Frankie.”

“Not everyone’s as small as me.”

“No, but Ray’s strong,” Mikey says. He pokes Ray’s arm. “Look at these guns!”

Mikey’s sitting on the counter next to the stove, perched near the edge, somewhat precariously. Frank can tell that Ray’s trying his best to not bump into Mikey or splash him with any of the water, which would be a whole fuck of a lot easier if Mikey moved, but Ray’s too nice to ask him to.

Ray grimaces. “Why does it always come to this when you guys come over?”

“Come to what?” Mikey asks innocently. “We’re just complimenting our host.”

Ray rolls his eyes, but he’s blushing a little bit. “Well, stop it. Be normal.”

They proceed to _be normal,_ as Ray puts it, and eat mac and cheese and drink beer on the couch, flipping through whatever happens to be on the tv and killing time until Gerard finally shows up. Ray actually goes to answer the door this time, apparently taking Frank’s potential murderer warning to heart, and returns a moment later with his mac and cheese bowl still in his hand and Gerard on his heels.

“Nice of you to join us,” Mikey says from the couch. Frank, on the floor, waves up at Gerard.

They’ve made a sort of blanket-and-pillow nest against the couch, with Ray in the single armchair to the left and Mikey with his legs stretched across the entire length of the couch, so Gerard has to glance around the room and assess which spots are even available.

Conveniently – not that this was _planned_ or anything, it’s just how it seems to be working out, and _fuck_ , Frank is glad for that – the only spot left, after Mikey taking over the entire couch, is next to Frank in the blanket nest. Gerard seems to notice this, and Frank, meeting his eyes, scoots over a little bit to make room for him.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, setting his bag down. He’s already in pajamas, stupid Star Wars pants, of _course_ he picked these ones out, knowing Ray’s movie plans, and Frank watches as Gerard pulls his hoodie over his head so that he’s just in a t-shirt, the hem of said shirt riding up a little bit with the motion. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

Distracted. Frank comes to the realization that, under a blanket, one of his hands is curled tight in on itself, his fingers digging into his palm as though that’ll force him to settle the fuck down over seeing a single strip of Gerard’s skin.

“It’s cool, man,” Ray says, sitting down in the armchair again. “Wait, do you want mac and cheese?”

Gerard grins. “Yeah, sure, I can get it, though, don’t get up.” He heads off to the kitchen and Frank feels himself noticeably relax.

Above him, behind him, Mikey says, in an eerily similar tone to how Gerard had sounded on Monday, close e-fucking-nough that Frank could swear it means that Mikey _heard_ Gerard say it, “How’re you doing, Frankie?”

There’s a slightly teasing undertone to Mikey’s version, though, which tells Frank all he needs to know. The most important conclusion Frank comes to, however, is that he never should’ve fucking told Mikey that he had a sex dream about Gerard.

“Fine,” Frank replies to Mikey, who huffs a little with laughter and doesn’t say anything else.

Gerard comes back faster than Frank had been expecting, sitting down cross-legged on the floor in the blanket nest with Frank, his knee touching Frank’s thigh, because they _have_ to sit close for it to be comfortable, Ray doesn’t have _that_ many blankets. He sets the bowl of mac and cheese down in the center of his crossed legs and says, “Okay, I’m ready,” before Ray nods and hits the play button on the remote.

Frank has seen Star Wars before. Not a million times or anything, he’s not fucking _Gerard_ , but enough that he doesn’t have to pay _that_ much attention. He’s interested, but he knows what’s going on and it’s not like he’s going to get lost. It’s also not like he’s that invested in it, which makes him feel better about not paying attention.

Both of these aspects to Frank’s general attitude towards Star Wars are essential to him having a decent fucking time tonight, because if he _wanted_ or _needed_ to pay attention, he sure as fuck would not be having a good time right now, because for the fucking life of him he can’t think of anything aside from Gerard’s knee against his thigh and his stupid little smile watching scenes that are so far from new to him and how he keeps leaning over and whispering stupid trivia to Frank specifically because if he says it any louder, Mikey and Ray will yell at him.

“Did you know,” Gerard says in a hushed voice to Frank as soon as Luke gets sucked under the water by the monster in the trash compactor, his eyes huge and trained on the screen, “Mark Hamill, he had to hold his breath, right? He fucked up his eye, he popped a blood vessel, you can see it later on in the movie.”

“Why do you even know that?” Frank whispers back, watching Gerard watch the movie.

They’re slouched over now, mostly lying down, shoulders leaning against the front of the couch and heads tilted together to whisper without bothering anyone else. Frank has gone from weirdly focused on Gerard’s knee touching his thigh to feeling numb from his sensitivity to having their whole bodies lined up. He feels dizzy with it.

Gerard shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s interesting.”

“It’s not, really,” Frank replies, and he’s so fucking glad Gerard isn't looking at him right now, because if he was, he’d be able to see the dopey fucking smile on Frank’s face, and that’s just about the most embarrassing thing he can think of.

“Do you want me to shut up?” Gerard asks softly, and he _does_ turn to look at Frank then.

“No,” Frank says, “you can keep talking if you want.”

Frank wants to kiss Gerard so fucking badly he’s vibrating with it. He thinks if he doesn’t kiss Gerard right now, he’s going to implode. The world might fucking end if he doesn’t knock that stupid bowl of mac and cheese out of Gerard’s hands and get his tongue in Gerard’s mouth.

He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna do it he’s gonna do it he’s gonna do it he’s gonna –

“Please don’t keep talking,” Mikey says in a bored voice from above them on the couch. “I can’t hear what Vader’s saying.”

Gerard tears his eyes away from Frank and glances up at Mikey. “You’ve seen this before. And I was whispering.”

“I’ve also heard all the trivia before.”

“Frank hasn’t,” Gerard replies, sounding slightly miffed.

“Yeah, Frank hasn’t,” Frank adds. Mikey smacks him on the top of the head.

They roll through the first movie and it feels fast to Frank, but the next thing he knows, the credits are rolling and the clock sitting on the top of Ray’s tv says 12:06am.

“Oh,” Frank says, sitting up. “That was longer than I thought.”

“Can we take a break?” Mikey asks. He swings his legs down from the couch, his ankles passing dangerously close to Gerard’s forehead. “I need to piss.”

“Sure,” Ray replies. “You know where –”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, standing and heading out of the room. He tugs on Ray’s curls in an unexpectedly affectionate way as he passes, and then he’s gone.

Gerard sits up as well. “Okay, I guess if we’re taking a break, I’m gonna go downstairs for a smoke. Frankie, do you –”

“Yeah, sure,” Frank replies. Gerard stands up faster than Frank does and reaches out a hand to pull him to his feet, which makes Frank’s stupid cheeks turn pink. There’s no fucking reason for that, he was literally just standing up and using Gerard’s hand for leverage, but god, he’s an idiot.

He lets go of Gerard’s hand. Not because he wants to, but because he has to put on a jacket and his shoes and, more selfishly, he doesn’t want Ray to ask any questions. He doesn’t think Ray _would_ , but still.

“This is fun,” Gerard says when they’re outside, standing side by side against the wall of Ray’s apartment building, huddled together to combat the cold but still not quite touching. “I’m glad Ray said he wanted to do this.”

“Me too,” Frank says. “God, my fucking teeth are chattering.”

Gerard laughs a little bit. “Do you want my jacket?”

“What?” Frank asks, turning to look at Gerard, who’s lighting a second cigarette from his own, without Frank asking, and passing it over to Frank. “Are you fucking with me?”

Gerard shrugs. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

“Well, I don’t want _you_ to be cold!”

“Frank, just –” Gerard sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, then reaches out and wraps his right arm around Frank’s shoulders, pulling him in tight against his body. “Don’t be stupid.”

Gerard’s taller than him. Not by _that_ much, but by a bit. Enough so that if Frank wanted to kiss him right now ( _if_? Fucking _if_? Frank always wants to kiss Gerard) he’d have to go up on his tiptoes. As it is, his face is like halfway in the hollow of Gerard’s neck and he can feel Gerard’s pulse fluttering there, warm and rapid.

“Oh,” Frank says, softly, and he can feel the vibration in Gerard’s throat when he laughs a little bit. “I get it.”

He shifts a little bit to not be so tightly pressed against Gerard, not because it’s something he wants, but just for ease of access so that he can smoke, and they stay there like that, each with an arm around the other, smoking, even their breaths that aren’t nicotine exhales puffing out of their mouths in hazy clouds.

Gerard finishes his cigarette, drops it, grinds it out with the toe of his shoe. “We should go back in,” he says.

“Yeah,” Frank replies, stepping back from Gerard a little bit. They’re still pretty close together, Gerard’s arm still loosely around Frank’s shoulders, but there’s enough space between them now that Frank shouldn’t be able to feel Gerard’s heartbeat. He might be able to, though. Or is that his? Frank can’t tell anymore, he just watches Gerard’s throat as he swallows, then lifts his eyes back to Gerard’s face, which is wearing an uncertain, conflicted expression. “Gerard, I –”

Gerard closes the distance and kisses Frank.

 _Fuck_ , Frank thinks. It’s a constant mantra running through his head. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ The arm that was around Frank’s shoulders shifts and moves down so that Gerard has his hand on the side of Frank’s neck, his thumb pressed under Frank’s jaw, tilting his head up, fingers tangled in Frank’s hair, and Frank steps backward, involuntarily, bumps into the wall. He realizes that he’s moved a hand to one of Gerard’s hips and the other is fisted in his shirt, he dropped his cigarette somewhere, and _fuck_ , Gerard is such a good kisser, Frank had been hoping he’d overexaggerated it or imagined it or fucking dreamed it, so that if it never happened again he could live in the memory and be happy with it, but no, he was remembering right, and _shit_.

Gerard moves away from Frank’s mouth and presses a kiss to the side of Frank’s neck, his hand moving to the base of Frank’s throat, resting on his collarbones, and fuck, Frank’s already half hard, he can’t go back inside like this. He hears himself say, “Wait, wait, Gerard, fuck, stop,” and he curses himself for it.

“What?” Gerard asks, his voice soft and breathless and Frank wants to kick himself for stopping him. Gerard pulls back, looking at Frank with eyes that are huge and dark and beautiful and Frank feels his heart jerk around in his chest in a stupid way that he recognizes as something not horny but a lot scarier. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just,” Frank replies, his voice coming out weird and low and sort of like a whisper, “Gerard, I don’t know what you want.”

Gerard is quiet for a minute. He hasn’t moved his hands away from where they were, one inside Frank’s jacket, edging under his shirt, one on Frank’s collarbone, the thumb absently moving back and forth on the skin of his throat.

“I don’t really know,” he says finally. “This.”

Frank almost wants to say _that’s not good enough_ but instead he says, “Okay,” and pulls Gerard in again.

Frank loses sense of time. He has no idea how long they’ve been outside, probably far longer than a smoke break normally takes, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if Ray and Mikey are tired of waiting for them and if they’re going to come out to make sure nothing bad happened, but most of his brain is occupied with Gerard. Gerard is… he’s surprisingly gentle with Frank right now, like Frank stopping him earlier had worried him or something, and Frank supposes that makes sense; Gerard doesn’t know about the dream that Frank had and how he’d let Gerard leave marks all over him if that’s what he wanted and how he’s been consciously thinking about this for a week now but maybe it’s been on his mind for longer and he feels like the energy coiled in his stomach is going to make him implode.

Gerard moves closer, if possible, his leg between both of Frank’s, and his thigh brushes against Frank’s dick, and fuck, Frank’s so stupid, he fully gasps at the touch, and Gerard fucking _laughs_.

“Oh,” he says, his voice vibrating against Frank’s skin, “okay.”

“Fuck you,” Frank manages, his voice fucking _rough_.

“I mean,” Gerard replies, grinning, pausing to kiss Frank again, two of the fingers on his right hand dancing around the waistband of Frank’s stupid pajama pants, “if you want, but I was thinking –”

There’s the bang of a heavy door shutting from somewhere inside the building, followed by footsteps on the stairs. Gerard turns his head to look over to the building door, seeming to note the footsteps getting nearer.

“Shit,” Gerard says softly. There’s an apology in his eyes when he looks back at Frank.

“If that’s fucking Ray,” Frank says, breathlessly, his voice tight in his chest, “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Well, it’s not Mikey.” Gerard steps back, lets go of Frank, tugs his hands haphazardly through his hair in an attempt to smooth it out. “We both know he’d never come down, he’d make Ray go.”

Gerard’s hair is all over the place. “You’re stupid,” Frank says, and even he can hear the affection in his voice. Gross. “Let me.”

They make each other look somewhat presentable and Frank manages to get his dick to calm down and Gerard holds the door for him to go back into the building. Ray is nowhere to be seen.

“Oh,” Frank says, disappointed. “He isn't even here.”

“Good thing, too,” Gerard replies. “You said you were going to kill him.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t _really._ He’d crush me like a bug. I just mean, you know. If Ray’s not here, then we didn’t have a reason to stop.”

Frank doesn’t look at Gerard as he says that, but he can see Gerard’s stupid grin out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Gerard says, and then they’re at the end of their climb up the stairs and Gerard pushes open the door to Ray’s apartment.


	7. week six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello hello staples fic readers!!!!
> 
> oh my god. long note today. first of all, i want to, as always, hand out a metric fuckton of thank yous. i'm gonna just put people's twitter @'s to identify them <3 number one. to my beta, projektgerard, thank you for putting up with my bullshit and for doing truly unspeakable research to help in the process. to the rest of the staples fic unofficial staff - saporduh (publicist extraordinaire), alexcactuss (literally from new jersey and willing to answer my dumb fucking questions), and DYK3GERARD (artist on retainer - PLEASE CHECK OUT THEIR INCREDIBLE ART!!!!!) - i adore you all. thank you so much for the support and the love. to my 'focus group', as they've asked to be called lately (M00NSHINECYBIN and elendventures), aka two of my best friends in the world, thank you for listening to whatever bullshit i write and for always supporting me in it. i love you. to my mutual of many years who i have recently connected with (worrydarling), i am cackling at finally getting you into mcr. im so sorry but thank you for the support.
> 
> if you guys are not on twitter, you probably are not aware but we have been gaining some traction there lately, and the biggest thank you i want to give is to everyone reading staples and talking about it and ESPECIALLY to all the incredible artists that have been putting their time and energy and hearts into recreating scenes that i've written. it means the WORLD to me that you guys have been inspired by something that came from my brain, and i love every single piece anyone sends me. and a psa to everyone who may want to draw scenes: please do! and please send them to me, i would lvoe to see them!!!!
> 
> i'm going to make a thread of all the art i have seen lately <3 i love all of them so so so much <3 you all amaze me.
> 
> NOW!!! ONTO SOME MORE SERIOUS AND/OR PLOT RELATED THINGS!
> 
> THERE'S SEX IN THIS CHAPTER. THAT'S A WARNING. IT'S ADVANCED. I UPPED THE RATING TO EXPLICIT BECAUSE I READ OVER THE RULES AGAIN. ADULT CONTENT BUT IT'S JUST HORNY ADULT CONTENT. I JUST WANT YOU ALL TO BE AWARE.
> 
> okay that's it i think! i just wanted you all to be aware. this chapter is long as hell and YES it technically takes place over the weekend between weeks five and six, but who gives a fuck! technically the work week had ended. we are good!
> 
> thank you so so much for everyone paying attention to this. i love you all very very much <3
> 
> please come say hi to me!!
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

Gerard wakes up on the floor of Ray’s living room, among a veritable cloud of blankets and pillows, with a slightly ache-y back and someone’s head on his chest.

It takes him a moment to realize that the person he’s tangled up in is Frank.

Gerard has no idea how he manages to keep his breath steady for the next minute or so while he figures out exactly what the current situation is and what to fucking do next. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he runs through the events of last night.

He feels like something had come over him that had made it physically fucking impossible for him to _not_ kiss Frank outside, when they’d been smoking. He can feel it now, still, sitting under the increasingly rapid thrum of his heart in his chest, next to Frank’s head, which he’s nestled in the hollow between Gerard’s shoulder and collar bone. Half of him wants to move, to wake Frank up, to kiss him until he stops being sleepy and sits up and gets in Gerard’s lap again like he had before. The other half of him is very aware of the physical limitations of their current location.

They’d come in last night and had headed towards the blanket nest like nothing had happened. Ray had moved to the couch with Mikey while they’d been gone, and there was a bowl of popcorn between them that, upon seeing Gerard enter the room, Mikey had reached into and thrown some of the contents in his brother’s direction.

Exactly none of the popcorn kernels had hit Gerard, and he’d looked down impassively at the floor in front of them. “Wow, you’re a worse shot than Ray,” Gerard had said dryly, and Ray’s mouth had opened in a perfectly circular _o_.

“I said I was sorry!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re gonna be able to live that shit down, Toro,” Frank had replied teasingly. His cheeks had still been pink, and he’d sat down directly in front of Ray. Sarcastically, he’d continued, “Gee’s gonna have a scar for the rest of his _life_ , how do you feel about that?”

Ray had put a hand on Frank’s head and mussed his hair before replying, “Awful,” and looking at Gerard apologetically.

“Ray, it’s _fine_ , it was an accident,” Gerard had said, sitting down next to Frank. “I’m not gonna have a scar, don’t be an asshole, Frankie.”

“Boo,” Frank had replied, stretching out the word, leaning his head back against the couch, just under Ray’s crossed legs. He’d closed his eyes and swallowed, and Gerard hadn’t been able to look away from his throat.

Jesus Christ.

Ray had started the next movie and Gerard had spent the next two hours and four minutes going fucking insane. If he’s being honest, Gerard’s been going insane for a week now, so sitting next to Frank and watching a fucking movie with him after having him against a wall, his mouth eager and obliging and the pulse in his throat fluttering like a fucking hummingbird where Gerard had had a hand against his skin, fuck, it had almost been too much for Gerard to just sit there and _deal_ with.

“Cold outside?” Mikey had asked dryly, and Gerard had craned his neck around to look at his brother questioningly.

“Yeah,” Gerard had replied, slowly. “It’s December, Mikey.”

“I was just wondering,” Mikey had said, fucking loftily, like he’d known something Gerard hadn’t and was making fun of him for it. “Your cheeks are all pink, so.”

“Oh,” Frank had said. “Yeah, it’s chilly.”

“Uh huh,” Mikey had replied, skeptically. Gerard hadn’t known _why_ Mikey’s fucking skeptical. It _is_ December. “I’m bored with this,” he’d continued, gesturing to the tv. “Do you guys want to play never have I ever?”

“No,” Gerard had said hastily, at the same time that Ray and Frank had replied affirmatively.

Gerard likes to think that he knows his brother better than he knows anyone else on the planet, and vice versa. This is super fucking advantageous in situations when he and Mikey manage to orchestrate elaborate lies to mutually benefit each other or if one of them is feeling shitty and they don’t want to have to talk about it, but the other just fucking _knows_. This is incredibly _disadvantageous_ when Gerard had just spent the better part of half an hour kissing one of Mikey’s friends – because despite all of them being coworkers, Frank is still _Mikey’s friend_ – outside of Ray’s apartment and had come back inside and proceeded to pretend like nothing had happened when, if you’re Mikey fucking Way, and you know your brother better than you know yourself, Gerard had still been looking noticeably wrecked.

Mikey had had a trap lying in wait, and Frank and Ray had unknowingly led Gerard right into it.

The thing about Mikey’s traps is that they’re always _devastatingly_ well-laid, even if he’s only just thought of them. Mikey’s brain is fast, faster than anyone else that Gerard has ever been fooled by, and despite that being a high number, Mikey’s always been the best at it. This is why, as Gerard had sat and taken swallows of his beer as they’d gone around the circle and said disarmingly normal shit in their drinking game, he’d been sitting and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Never have I ever,” Mikey had begun slowly, on about his fourth turn. Gerard had previously moved away from leaning against the couch and had rotated just enough to be sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at Mikey and Ray, with Frank sort of halfway lying down next to him, propped up on his left elbow and looking for all the world like he’d been _trying_ to get Gerard to cave and fucking eat him alive.

“Never have you ever finished a sentence without making us wait for the dramatic reveal?” Ray had teased, nudging Mikey with his knee.

“Shut up,” Mikey had replied. “I’m thinking.”

He hadn’t been thinking. His eyes had glittered with ill intent as he’d looked down at Gerard, briefly, then they’d flicked over to Frank. Gerard had felt his stomach bottom out.

“Never have I ever had a sex dream about someone in this room,” Mikey had said finally, looking at Frank.

“Oh,” Gerard had said out loud. He hadn’t known what he’d been expecting, actually, but it wasn’t this.

Surprisingly, Frank had turned a brilliant shade of pink and had muttered, “Fuck you, Mikey,” before tipping his head back and swallowing the last mouthful of beer in his bottle.

Mikey, watching him, had also taken a drink, a small, triumphant smile on his face.

“Wh – Mikey, you had a sex dream about _Frank_?” Ray had asked incredulously. He’d also taken a drink, and so had Gerard, but no one had seemed to notice that.

“No,” Mikey had replied. He didn’t elaborate.

“I think it’s clear,” Frank had said, in the tone of someone interrupting someone else in order to do damage control, even though no one had been speaking, “that we all had sex dreams about Ray.”

“Yeah, I did,” Gerard had said honestly, and Frank had cut his eyes over to him with an expression that had taken Gerard a moment to identify, but when he had, there’d been something fucking _hot_ in his chest and the base of his throat at realizing that the look on Frank’s face was _jealousy_.

“Well, I didn’t have one about myself,” Ray had answered, blushing furiously, and Mikey had patted his thigh.

“You don’t have to say,” he’d said, and had taken another drink.

With Mikey’s goal of thoroughly embarrassing Frank completed – Gerard hadn’t thought that this was what Mikey had been intending the entire time, but there they were – they had finished never have I ever with Gerard confused and Frank’s cheeks still pink like he’d been outside again. Ray had put on their third movie of the night, but it had gotten to the point where no one had really been paying attention, so about halfway through, Ray had gone to bed after Mikey had fallen asleep on the couch, carefully disentangling himself from where Mikey had crashed out with his head on Ray’s lap.

They had been quiet for a few minutes. Mikey’s breathing had been slow and deep and steady from behind Gerard on the couch, so either he’d really been asleep or, if he was faking, as he’s been known to do from time to time, he’d gotten so good at breathing like he’s asleep that Gerard hadn’t been able to tell.

Finally, Frank had said, “So,” like he’d wanted to say something more, but hadn’t figured it out.

Gerard hadn’t known what to say either. He hadn’t known what the fuck he’d wanted to tell Frank, his thoughts hadn’t stopped bouncing between _hey, what the fuck_ and _I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for a week and it scares me_ and _I know you want to know what I’m doing but I don’t even know so I can’t tell you_.

“So,” Gerard had repeated, instead of saying anything else.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Frank had offered after a beat. “You know, Gerard, I just – okay, if it’s just a one-time thing, or. Two times, I guess, whatever. If it’s just that, then we don’t have to talk about it, and I won’t bring it up again.”

Gerard, now lying down and staring at the ceiling instead of at the tv, had replied, “I don’t know what it is.”

Frank had made a sound that was almost like biting back a sigh, like he wanted to say something cutting but had forced himself to shut up.

“I just,” Gerard had tried again, still resolutely looking at the ceiling instead of at Han Solo frozen in carbonite or the much more suspense-inducing sight of Frank next to him. “I don’t know what this is. I _don’t_ , Frank, okay, but I know…”

He _had_ turned to look at Frank then, which was a mistake, because Frank had been watching Gerard talk with an almost wistful expression on his face, and Gerard’s heart had twisted in his chest at how fucking open and vulnerable he’d looked.

“I like you,” Gerard had said, lamely, honestly, stupidly.

“Oh,” Frank had said, and he’d started smiling a little bit, and Gerard had felt that weird, fluttery, stupid movement somewhere in his stomach that he’d been feeling around Frank for a while, but that he’d been too much of an idiot to identify before last week. “I like you, too.”

“Okay,” Gerard had said, because he hadn’t known what else to say. They’d sat in silence for a while, Frank still watching the movie, Gerard sneaking glances over at him every so often. Finally, he’d added, “You don’t have to –”

Frank had looked over at him quickly, so much so that Gerard had stumbled over his words. “I don’t have to what?”

“Just – you don’t have to sit all the way over there,” Gerard had finished, far less smoothly than he’d been wanting the words come out, but it had been okay, because Frank had clearly understood exactly what Gerard was getting at and had immediately come over to him and had nestled into the space at his side like he’d done it a million times before, and Gerard’s heart had been thrumming with the speed and intensity of a frenetic drumbeat.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” Frank had said, and then, “Ow,” mildly, as Gerard had tugged on his hair lightly in response.

Now, waking up on the floor in the early hours of Saturday morning, Gerard can’t remember exactly when they’d fallen asleep or what they’d talked about for the rest of the movie. He doesn’t even remember the movie ending. It’s not like he _needs_ to see the end of Return of the Jedi to know what happened, but still. He normally pays a lot more attention than this.

Behind him, Mikey is still asleep, which Gerard is grateful for. He doesn’t really know what he’d fucking do if he’d have to deal with Mikey’s knowing, probably disapproving looks, on top of his own weird fucking thought process.

The clock on top of Ray’s tv says 6:57am. Gerard sighs, his eyes still heavy from sleeping for only, like, half a second, held in place in the blanket nest by one of Frank’s arms thrown across his stomach, and he doesn’t think there’s anything he’d hate more than making him move right now.

He shuts his eyes again. He can deal with this in a couple of hours.

Gerard wakes up again, considerably stiffer and colder, the smell of coffee and something vaguely greasy and breakfast-y wafting over from the kitchen and the sound of his friends talking and laughing while he lies on the floor, completely alone.

The room is much brighter. He sits up, squinting and rubbing at his eyes, tugging at his rat’s nest of hair as he does.

“Oh,” comes Mikey’s voice from the kitchen. “Look who finally decided to wake up. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Gerard just groans in response and somehow manages to get to his feet. Mikey is sitting at the table, drinking out of one of Ray’s mugs with a T. Rex on the side, waving his claws and saying _I have little arms!,_ with Frank, who gets up as Gerard approaches and heads into the kitchen, flashing him a bright smile when he passes.

“You’re looking well rested,” Gerard says to his brother, after watching Frank make his way into the kitchen, stupidly light on his feet, moving around with a dumb little bounce in his step like things are great and it isn't too early and like the little bruised spot on his neck isn't more obvious in the morning light, weaving between Ray, at the stove, and the cabinet, to get another mug. Gerard forces himself to focus on Mikey. “Did the couch treat you right?”

“Surprisingly, Ray has very comfortable furniture,” Mikey replies smugly. “I showed up on time yesterday, Gee, that’s why I got first pick.”

“You rode with Ray, of _fucking_ course you got first pick!”

Mikey raises his eyebrows. “And we would’ve been here at the same time if you’d remembered your shit.”

Gerard opens his mouth to argue further, but he’s cut off by the sight of Frank sliding a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up at Frank, who rolls his eyes and shoves Gerard’s head lightly before heading back into the kitchen to sit on the counter and steal pancakes from Ray, saying, “Drink your coffee, asshole,” while he leaves.

He pauses. “Thank you,” he calls after Frank.

“Sweet,” Mikey remarks, taking a sip of his own coffee. “What a little angel.”

Gerard narrows his eyes over his mug (Mikey had given it to Ray last Christmas, printed with the truly horrible phrase _A Gentleman, A Scholar, But Mostly A Baller_ on the side) and doesn’t reply to Mikey.

They leave Ray’s after a few hours of sitting around and eating the misshapen messes of pancakes that had come out of the pan when Frank had taken a turn with the spatula, Ray waving at them from the door as they tromp down the stairs to their cars, swathed in his plaid pajama pants and a zip-up hoodie and holding a cup of coffee like a mom watching her three kids head off to school.

Gerard yawns and adjusts the bag on his shoulder. Mikey’s already halfway down the stairs, and he looks back at his brother as he stops for said yawn, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m tired,” Gerard says, by way of explanation. He digs the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to Mikey. “Do you want to go warm it up?”

Mikey grabs the keys out of the air as they arc over to him. “If you’re too slow, I’m leaving you here.”

“Fair enough,” Gerard says, shrugging. “I’ll move in with Ray. I hear his couch is comfortable.”

Mikey rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and he heads off towards the car.

Gerard starts walking again, and there’s a touch on his left elbow and he turns to see Frank, hands shoved in his pockets and breath frosting in the air in front of him. “Hey,” Gerard says.

“Hey,” Frank replies, and there’s something in his eyes then, something that Gerard hasn’t seen in the light of day that makes his heart kick up a notch. “I’d give you a ride, you know. If Mikey left.”

“I know,” Gerard says. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he fumbles around in his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes, handing one to Frank.

“You shouldn’t smoke so much,” Frank says, but he takes the cigarette anyway.

“I know,” Gerard repeats. “Where would you give me a ride?”

Frank takes his own lighter out of his pocket and lights up, then passes it to Gerard. It’s been a beat since they’ve smoked together and _not_ had their heads together, lighting up at the same time, and the lack of this action and subsequent proximity to Frank is making Gerard’s skin itch.

He glances over to the wall by the stairs. He’d had Frank up against that wall last night, stupid and risky with want. His fucking mouth feels dry.

Frank takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out deliberately slowly. Gerard watches his mouth. “Wherever you want.”

Gerard isn't stupid. He doesn’t miss what Frank means by that.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Yeah,” Frank replies. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Gerard the entire time. He takes another drag of his cigarette. “I want to see you later.”

Gerard swallows. “Do you?”

“Yes.” There’s a pause. Gerard can barely breathe, he can barely move, he feels like if he moves even a little bit he’s going to do something stupid like get on his knees for Frank right in the stairway of Ray’s apartment building. “Come over later, you know where I live.”

Stupidly, Gerard says, “Don’t you live with your mom?”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Don’t you?”

Gerard laughs a little, because fuck it, he’s nervous, that’s not stupid to admit. Frank grins at him in response, and the knot in his chest loosens a little bit.

“Okay,” Gerard says. “Later.”

He jumps suddenly at the sound of his own car’s horn from the parking lot, followed by Mikey’s faint yell of, “Gerard, I will _leave_ your ass here if you don’t hurry the _fuck_ up!”

Frank looks in the direction of the cars. “Don’t be too long.”

“I’d never make you wait,” Gerard says, and it comes out sounding weirdly earnest.

Frank smiles at him and Gerard wants to kiss him and never stop. “You and I both know what a tease you are. If you get lost, Ray has my number. I figured you wouldn’t want to ask Mikey.”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, quickly, breathlessly. Mikey honks the horn again. Gerard looks over to the parking lot to make sure that Mikey can’t see from inside the car – Gerard can’t see the car at all, so he’s hoping – and takes a calculated risk. He surges forward and grabs Frank with one hand on his waist and the other on the back of his neck and kisses him, quickly, but not without heat.

“Okay,” he says, stepping away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Get out of here,” Frank says, but he blows a kiss that’s half cigarette smoke in Gerard’s direction as he leaves and Gerard all but bounces to the car.

“Took you long enough,” Mikey grumbles as Gerard gets into the car. “What’s with the grin, stupid?”

“Nothing,” Gerard says, looking out the window and watching Frank jump down the last three steps on the stairs and head towards his car. “It’s a nice day.”

Gerard almost backs out of going over to Frank’s three times.

There’s always a stupid, evil little anxiety voice in his head, but it’s especially influential when shit like this is on the horizon. Gerard isn't an idiot, despite how much he allows himself to act like one, and he knows what Frank had meant when he’d said _I want to see you later_. Because of that, his brain is screaming at him to _just not show up_ or some dumb shit like that.

The only thing that keeps him from fucking up like that is the thought of how crushed Frank would be, so Gerard grits his teeth and paces around the basement for far too long and then goes to take a shower.

Frank hadn’t given him a specific time to show up, and Gerard barely remembers where he lives, so he takes his time in the shower, which only helps marginally in making him feel less jittery. It wouldn’t suck so much if someone else would wash his hair _for_ him, but Gerard can deal with it in the meantime.

He heads upstairs after getting dressed again, grabbing his keys from where Mikey had left them on the kitchen table, and is surprised by his brother’s voice from the kitchen, asking, “Are you going out again?”

Gerard blinks. Mikey is looking at him from inside the little triangle of space made when the fridge door is partially opened, his face quizzical and somewhat suspicious as he takes in Gerard’s noticeably fresh appearance.

“Yeah,” Gerard says.

Mikey narrows his eyes. “You _showered_.”

“Yeah…” Gerard repeats, starting to back away and grabbing his jacket from one of the hooks by the front door.

“Wait, Gee!” Mikey calls after him, a laugh doing its best to bounce to the forefront of his words despite Mikey’s best attempts to keep it hidden. “Where are you going? You gotta tell me, you got so fancy!”

“Fuck off!” Gerard yells back over his shoulder as he leaves the house, and he can hear Mikey laughing.

His hair is still a little wet as he drives, but it dries off in the fifteen minutes it takes Gerard to make his way over to Frank’s house. He listens to stupid music on the radio that Mikey had put on to annoy him earlier and doesn’t absorb a single word of the lyrics. He tries not to let his stomach get too jittery or to let the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel betray his nerves, but fuck it, he can’t help it.

Gerard’s only consolation to the butterflies in his stomach is that he knows he looks good. He _knows_ what he looks like after he washes his hair and he knows that if he wanted to have that all the time, he could.

Fuck, he’s not normally this nervous. It’s not like Gerard is _Mikey_ , he doesn’t fuck left and right, but it’s also not like he’s inexperienced. He went to _art school,_ for fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t be this nervous, why the _fuck_ is he this nervous?

_Because it’s Frank_ , the little voice in the back of his head points out helpfully.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gerard mutters under his breath as he parks the car.

By some miracle, he’s managed to actually get to the right house, and he has a brief moment of debate over which door he should knock on, before shaking himself and telling himself to pull his shit together, he’s here to see _Frank_ , not his mom.

Walking up to the door to the basement, Gerard hears muffled music coming from behind it, and hesitates before finally knocking. He’s answered almost right away by Frank shouting, “Just a sec!”

Gerard waits, and a moment later, the door opens, and Frank is there, pink-faced and wearing a set of teal rubber gloves with little flowers on them and a Black Flag t-shirt. “Hi,” he says, somewhat breathlessly.

“Hi,” Gerard replies. Frank looks stupid as all fuck and Gerard wants to kiss him. “I like your gloves.”

“Oh,” Frank says, looking down at them, as though he’d forgotten he had them on. “I was cleaning.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Gerard says, and Frank shrugs.

“I did,” he answers, and steps back from the door to let Gerard in. “Look, I didn’t want you to think I was disgusting, okay?”

“Frankie, look, I know you’ve never been to _my_ place, but I _know_ Mikey talks shit, so just – me thinking you’re disgusting for, like, your room is probably unlikely.” Sure enough, as Gerard looks around, he notes a space crammed with stuff, but everything is organized and seemingly exactly where it belongs. God, he’s gonna have to revamp his entire system of life before he can ever have Frank over.

And fuck, he scares himself by thinking about if Frank might come over at some point. They haven’t even gotten through _this._

Frank shuts the door behind them and edges around Gerard taking off his jacket by the door and tosses his discarded gloves into a blue bucket just inside the bathroom door filled with cleaning supplies. He stops by the stereo to turn down the music and turns around to look at Gerard, hands in his pockets and looking small and vulnerable and just about as nervous as Gerard feels.

“So,” Frank says, shrugging. “This is my room.”

“It’s nice,” Gerard says, looking around as he walks in further, and he really means it. It’s very quintessentially Frank, with most of the room taken up by what Gerard can only assume is equipment belonging to his band, the rest of the space divided into a hybrid living room/bedroom situation, with a couch and a tv and his bed against one poster-covered wall.

“Thanks,” Frank replies. “Do you want – I don’t know if you ate yet.”

“Oh,” Gerard says, because he hadn’t thought about it at all. If he’s being honest, he hadn’t even had the vaguest suggestion of eating lunch on his mind, even though it’s the mid-afternoon now, because his stomach’s been in knots since this morning. “I didn’t, did you?”

“No.” Frank looks off to the side, then sighs, and goes, “Fuck. This is stupid.”

Gerard is about to say something along the lines of _oh, I can go if you don’t –_ but his brain doesn’t finish the thought, because before Gerard can blink, it seems, Frank has come up to him and is getting up on his tiptoes to kiss him.

For all of Gerard’s nerves going into this, for all he’s thought about Frank over the past couple of weeks and for all he never seriously thought this would be a reality, his body starts to move on autopilot. Part of this is Frank’s insistent, leading hands, pulling Gerard over to the couch, and his mouth, demanding and needy and telling Gerard more than any words he could say that he _wants_ this.

Frank knows this room, more than Gerard could gather from the brief glance around that he managed before jumping into this, so he’s the one moving backwards, ending up stumbling a little as the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he sits down suddenly. One of his hands still has its fingers through one of Gerard’s belt loops, the other tangled in Gerard’s hair, and so Gerard is pulled onto the couch too, but he catches himself on it with only one knee, his other foot still on the ground.

Frank pulls away from him, laughing a little bit. “Did you wash your hair?”

Gerard is suddenly, inexplicably, embarrassed. “I mean,” he begins. “Yeah, I did, I just – you know.”

Frank is looking up at him with an expression on his face that makes Gerard’s heart stutter and shift, something tender in his eyes that Gerard hasn’t seen in the way anyone’s looked at him for a long time. “You look really good,” Frank says, and Gerard kisses him again.

Gerard ends up shifting sideways, sitting on the weird, blue, almost corduroy fabric of the couch, and Frank, his hands on either side of Gerard’s face, his touch gentle like he wants to be lazy with this, gets in his lap like he had in the car. This time it’s slower, less frantic, less like a pent-up burst of emotion and more like a sigh at the end of a long day. This time, Gerard’s hands aren’t fluttering around like he doesn’t know what to do with them, he has them on Frank’s sides, one sneaking into the space between the waist of Frank’s jeans and where his shirt is riding up, tracing little patterns into the skin there with his thumb.

Frank has sensitive skin and moves around a lot and he swears like there’s no tomorrow when Gerard’s more free hand sneaks up to his throat and he hooks his first and middle fingers through Frank’s choker, pulling him a little bit. They’ve been making out for a while and they’re both hard, Gerard is dizzy with it, with the contact, and the way Frank starts grinding down in his lap when Gerard kisses his jaw, the side of his neck, the base of his throat, pausing to pull Frank’s shirt over his head and to then pepper delicate, feather-light kisses over his collarbones and chest is telling Gerard he’s moving in the right direction.

“Fuck,” Frank gasps, hot into Gerard’s mouth, and Gerard bites Frank’s lip. Not hard, just enough to make Frank gasp again like that. “Fuck, Gerard, wait.”

His hands are scrambling around Gerard’s hips, Gerard can’t tell if Frank is trying to take his shirt off or get his hands into his pants, so he just sits for a minute, watching Frank’s little frown and his frustrated, jittery motions. “Do you need help?” he asks, trying not to laugh.

“Shut up,” Frank replies, and kisses Gerard again, quickly, before there’s a telling jingle and Frank continues, somewhat triumphantly, “Got it.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Are you going to continue to make fun of me, or do you want to put your dick in my mouth?”

“Oh,” Gerard says, raising his eyebrows. “Well, if the second one’s an option – _oh_.”

Gerard stops talking to gasp and make an embarrassing sound when Frank gets a hand around his dick. Frank has a stupid, smug, brilliant grin on his face, and Gerard leans up to kiss him, again and again and again while Frank jerks him off until he moves away, getting off of Gerard’s lap completely, but letting his fingers trail down Gerard’s thighs as he moves.

Gerard loses his shirt somewhere, but he doesn’t have it in him to think about what happened or to be self-conscious, not with Frank nudging Gerard’s legs further apart and sinking to his knees between them, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “I need you to – goddammit,” Frank hisses out the curse at the end, trying his hardest to tug down Gerard’s pants. “You’re so fucking uncooperative.”

“You said you didn’t want my help,” Gerard points out around a giggle, and Frank scowls at him. Gerard, extremely helpfully, despite Frank not asking, lifts his hips off the couch, still laughing, and Frank lets out a constant and creative stream of swearing under his breath while he pulls Gerard’s jeans off.

Gerard becomes vaguely aware that he’s fully undressed when Frank pauses to consider his dick, head tilted to one side, and then says, “Well.”

“Well, what?”

Frank grins. “I can see why you’re such a cocky asshole sometimes, with a thing like that. God, no wonder I had such a hard time getting your pants off, don’t you get uncomfortable?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gerard replies, reaching up to cover his pinkening face with his hands, as though that’ll do anything.

“I mean, that’s the idea,” Frank says, and he comes up to kiss Gerard again, prying his hands away from his face, and it’s light and almost loving for a minute before he starts to work his way downwards again and Gerard feels like he’s going to black out.

His skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere that Frank’s mouth touches him, kissing with just a little bit of sharpness, a little bit of a bite to them, and every time Frank stops on his way down to kiss Gerard’s sternum, his hipbone, his inner thigh, Gerard feels more and more like he could lose it on a hair-trigger. By the time Frank gets to his dick, Gerard’s so fucking antsy and turned on and stupid with want that he makes an embarrassing, not entirely gasping noise and the only thing grounding him is Frank’s hand tight on his hip and his own fingers tangled in Frank’s short hair.

Gerard’s only able to think about two things during the entire time Frank’s sucking him off, and these are the entire reason he doesn’t lose it as soon as Frank gets his mouth around him. The first thought is that if he doesn’t get to do this to Frank, if he doesn’t get to make Frank feel at least as good as this, if not better, then he’s going to hate himself for the rest of his life. The second thought is, much less romantically, about the weird material of the couch and how his ass is going to have lines on it after they’re done, but it’s this extremely grounding thought that keeps Gerard from jerking around his hips nearly as much as he would if he wasn’t concentrating really hard on _not_ fucking Frank’s mouth, because fuck, as much as he’d like to, he and Frank are both aware of Gerard’s above-decent-sized dick and Gerard doesn’t want to _choke_ him or anything. Well, not right now.

Then Frank does something weirdly specific with his tongue and Gerard is aware that words are coming out of his mouth, stupid, babbling shit about how Frank is _so good so hot so beautiful_ and _fuck, yeah, just like that, baby_ and Frank laughs, muffled and teasing and fucking _evil_ , with Gerard’s dick still in his mouth, and the vibration is just right, and his hand tightens in Frank’s hair, and Frank makes another noise but this time it’s a moan, and then Gerard comes, and Frank swallows.

“Shit,” Gerard manages, and Frank’s mouth is gone from his dick, and Gerard, looking up at the ceiling, feels Frank rest his cheek against Gerard’s thigh, like he’s taking a break. He looks down at Frank, who’s delicately wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, watching Gerard with big eyes. “Shit, Frankie.”

Frank almost looks embarrassed, but he kisses Gerard’s thigh briefly, lightly, and then says, “So, it was okay, then?”

“It was – shut up,” Gerard rushes out, and leans down to kiss Frank, grabbing his face with both hands. He’s not sure how, but they end up on their feet, stumbling through the room again, eventually tripping their way onto Frank’s bed in an oddly similar manner to how they’d ended up on the couch. Frank props himself up on his elbows when Gerard starts working on pulling off his pants, which he’s still wearing, for some stupid reason, laughing when Gerard has the same problem that Frank had had earlier.

“Not so easy, is it?” Frank asks smugly, lifting his hips up obligingly. Gerard manages to pull Frank’s jeans off completely, throwing them off the end of the bed haphazardly, and Frank laughs again, that almost gentle look in his eyes like he _cares_ about Gerard, and that thought scares Gerard so much that he kisses Frank again, to shut him up, and then more, just because he wants to.

Gerard is coming to realize that he can determine exactly how well he’s doing by the speed, frequency, and category to the sounds coming out of Frank’s mouth. He takes his time, holding himself up over Frank, positioned between his legs, and keeps his touches light and teasing, sucking on that sensitive spot on the side of Frank’s neck while ghosting over his chest and stomach with his right hand, Frank’s hand tight in his hair and a constant, wrecked stream of _fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you_ leaving his mouth.

“Oh,” Frank says, when Gerard moves to a new spot, the sensitive skin on the inside of Frank’s hip. He’s been jumping around in different places all over Frank’s body, his mouth, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs, making Frank swear and grip the blanket on the bed in one hand, purposely dancing carefully around even brushing against Frank’s dick. Gerard nips at Frank’s skin and looks up to see Frank with an arm thrown over his eyes, like he’s dramatically shielding himself from stimulation. “Oh, fuck you, Gee.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Gerard asks, and he knows he’s being an asshole, but he grins at Frank when Frank lifts his arm away from his eyes and groans, more in exasperation than anything else.

“I will fucking kill you,” Frank replies, and Gerard fucking loves how his voice sounds. “I’ll kill you, I will, I’ll do it, I – _ah_.”

Frank shuts up when Gerard _finally_ gets a hand around his dick, to the point that Gerard is surprised how quiet he gets, his mouth still open but just with little gasps sneaking out of it, until Gerard comes up and kisses him again and again and again. He jerks Frank off with slow, even strokes at first, but then the sounds coming out of his mouth start to get more breathy and rapid and frantic as Gerard does shit with his mouth that he isn't even conscious of, and then Frank’s constant swearing cuts off with a ragged little gasp and he digs his nails into Gerard’s shoulder so hard Gerard thinks he might draw blood, and he goes _fuck fuck fuck_ and that’s how Gerard knows.

Gerard is vaguely aware of talking, of the rosiness of Frank’s skin, the sheen of the sweat on his throat as he throws his head back, of saying dumb fucking shit like _you’re so good, you’re doing so good, I want you to come for me, baby_ , of pressing kisses to every inch of Frank he can reach and of Frank’s responsiveness to the pet name and of how fast he comes after that, all over Gerard’s hand and his own stomach.

“Fuck,” Frank says, and Gerard thinks that’s the only word he’s really said for the past few minutes. He kisses Gerard, who’s suddenly aware that holding himself up on his arm is starting to make said arm hurt, and collapses to the side of the bed closest to the wall. Frank watches him, a fondness to his expression that makes Gerard want to kiss him again, and continues, “I’m gross.”

Gerard snorts. “You look hot.”

Frank looks pointedly at the jizz on his stomach and lets out a little laugh, then reaches to the little bedside table for a box of tissues, pulling one out for himself and offering the box to Gerard. He takes one, methodically cleaning off his right hand while poking at spots Frank misses.

He’s tired. The combination of a lack of sleep, not eating anything since the morning, being generally nervous over this, and the sex itself is making Gerard want to not move for at least four hours, but as he watches, Frank gets off the bed and picks his way over to his drawers, pulling out a pair of pajama pants and throwing another at Gerard.

They hit Gerard in the face. “What’s this for?”

Frank laughs. “You’re terrible at catching shit. Anyway, it gets cold, I don’t want your dick to fall off.”

Gerard almost says something cheesy as all hell about Frank keeping him warm, but he just rolls his eyes and replies, “You’re _so_ considerate,” while pulling on the pajama pants, which are too short.

It’s sort of unspoken that Gerard’s going to stay over for a while, at least. It doesn’t seem like Frank wants him to go, and _Gerard_ doesn’t want to, so he gathers his clothes and puts them in a little messily-folded pile by his shoes at the door, except for his t-shirt, which he pulls back on. That move was useless anyway, because Frank insists that they both shower before anything else, and Gerard tries to complain but Frank is a demanding motherfucker when he wants to be, so he finds himself herded into the water for the second time today.

Frank’s meticulous, Gerard learns, and he comes to the conclusion that it _is_ a lot nicer when you have someone else to wash your hair for you, and they get distracted and end up kissing in the shower until the water starts to run cool.

“We should get dinner,” Frank says, later, counting his hickeys in the mirror while Gerard sits on the couch and scrubs at his hair with a towel. “It’s getting late.”

Gerard looks over at Frank, who’s frowning at a dark spot over his heart in the mirror. “What’s the damage?”

Frank flashes him a quick grin and says, “Eight.”

Gerard shrugs. “We could order a pizza and get to double digits while we wait.”

“What an idea,” Frank says, and he turns off the light in the bathroom.

Gerard walks into Staples on Monday afternoon with a stupid grin on his face and far too much spring in his step for someone who purposely made themselves late so they could walk in a reasonably not-suspicious amount of time after their coworker who they’d spent the weekend with.

Mikey narrows his eyes at his brother as he swings into the breakroom to put his bag and jacket in his locker. “You look happy.”

“What?” Gerard asks, super cleverly, pointedly not looking at Frank, who’s sitting on the table and picking at his nail polish, but who had looked up when Gerard had entered the room, the bruises on his throat making him look like he got beat up. “Oh. I don’t know. I had a good weekend.”

“Uh huh,” Mikey says slowly. “Where were you?”

Gerard looks at Mikey as blankly as he possibly can. “What do you mean?”

Mikey rolls his eyes massively and sighs. “I know you weren’t _home_ , Gerard, your car was gone for _days_!”

Gerard blinks. “Were you worried?”

“Yes! Goddammit!” Mikey crosses his arms. He looks like a petulant little kid and Gerard is almost surprised that he doesn’t stamp his foot. “I know you’re… old, or whatever –”

Frank snickers. Gerard says, “I’m only three years older than you, Mikey.”

“– and I _know_ you know how to take care of yourself, but fuck, Gerard, you didn’t even tell anyone where you were! You never leave the house! You could’ve been dead!”

“I – I’m sorry,” Gerard manages, and Mikey sets his jaw, not looking at all satisfied.

“Mikey,” Ray says quietly from the other side of the room. “He’s okay. He can take care of himself.”

Mikey glares at Gerard for just long enough to make Gerard fidget before saying, “You _better_ fucking come home tonight,” and stomping out of the room.

Ray watches Mikey go, and then looks to Gerard. “Look, I don’t want to pry, but – you’re okay, right? Mikey called me, he said you weren’t picking up your phone. He was pretty worried.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Gerard tells Ray, who nods, but still looks skeptical. “I promise, I’m fine, I was with a friend.”

“Okay,” Ray says. He glances at the clock. “We gotta go,” he adds, and then heads out into the store.

Gerard lets out a gusty sigh and shuts his locker door.

“Oh, we’re _friends_ , are we?” Frank says from the table. He uncrosses his legs and hops down, flashing Gerard a grin that makes him feel hot in the base of his throat. “That’s good to know.”

“I wasn’t about to tell Ray,” Gerard replies. Frank isn't looking at him, he’s pinning his nametag to his shirt, but Gerard watches his fingers, nimble and quick, and then forces himself to look away. “He might get jealous.”

“Sure,” Frank replies. He looks up, having finished with his nametag, and says, purposely casually, “I just wanted to know if you were like this with _all_ your friends, or if I’m special.”

Gerard catches Frank’s wrist as he starts to leave the breakroom, pulling him back and kissing him hard but quickly. When he lets Frank go, Gerard says, “You know you’re special,” and tries to ignore the way Frank looks at him, his face lighting up completely and the way it makes his heart flip-flop around in his suddenly constricted chest as he heads out to kill time at the register.

Monday passes quickly enough. Gerard has a slow day, only having to deal with a few customers before lunch, so he spends the majority of his shift wandering around, too fucking antsy to sit still at the front counter like he normally does, lingering around the Sharpie display, just close enough to PMS to be able to catch Frank’s eye occasionally, and doodling stupid shit on the sample notepads that he knows will make Frank laugh when he walks by.

They act as normally as they can during lunch with Mikey and Ray, even though Mikey seems to be infuriated with both of them, though Gerard can’t figure out what his brother’s deal with Frank is, and Ray is doing his best to make small talk, despite the general lack of conversation at the table. Gerard, for his part, is having a hard time remaining present enough in the conversation to actually engage because of Frank’s hand tracing little swirls on the inseam of Gerard’s jeans under the table.

Gerard goes out for a smoke during the last hour and a half of his shift, and as usual, Frank comes with him, and it’s not suspicious or weird for just them to be out there, because no one else ever joins them. They share a single cigarette and trade kisses and smoky breaths and horrible jokes and shush each other in the little space by the never-used dumpster behind the store.

By the time they close and Gerard heads to the car with Mikey, his emotional high on sneaking around with Frank has settled back into the dread that’s been lingering at the back of his mind from the way Mikey’s been acting. It’s not like Mikey’s been giving Gerard dirty looks or anything or saying much at all; Gerard thinks that would actually suck a lot less, but Mikey’s just been flatly _ignoring_ him, and it’s making Gerard feel like he has an itch he can’t scratch.

He and Mikey rarely fight. They’ve always been close, their personalities able to complement each other enough that once they got out of their shitty early-to-mid-teen stages, and they’ve had the occasional argument since then, but it’s never been anything serious. Every time, though, if they’re in public Mikey acts like nothing’s happening. Gerard understands that – he hates to argue in front of anyone else, he wouldn’t want to embarrass himself or Mikey or anyone else who might be around for the whole situation.

However, despite knowing this, he still feels a weight settling deep into his stomach as he unlocks his car and Mikey gets into the passenger seat.

The ten-minute ride home is very quiet. Gerard doesn’t turn on the radio, mostly because he wants to give Mikey a chance to say anything he might want to, but his brother doesn’t speak until they’re pulling up to their house.

“I called you,” Mikey says quietly, just as Gerard is parking. “You didn’t pick up.”

“Were you okay?” Gerard asks, at the same volume. Mikey is picking at a loose string on the end of his jacket sleeve, frowning a little. “Did you need me, or –”

Mikey sighs and lifts up his head. “Yeah, it’s whatever, I needed someone to get me.”

Gerard frowns. “From where? What happened?”

Mikey shrugs. “I went to Pete’s. I didn’t want to stay the night.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Gerard says. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up.”

“It’s not your job to drive me around,” Mikey replies. He pauses, then continues, “It just – it made me worry, okay? I know you have to do your own thing, sometimes, but, you know, you’re my best friend, whatever.”

Mikey doesn’t elaborate on that statement, but Gerard knows what he means. _You’re my best friend, if I have to ask anyone for help, it’s going to be you_.

“You’re my best friend, too,” Gerard says, and Mikey smiles a little bit. “Did you get picked up okay, or were you stuck?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” Mikey stops to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I called Ray.”

“Oh, okay,” Gerard replies. “I’ll call. If I’m not… coming home. Next time.”

“Next time,” Mikey says, looking at Gerard somewhat slyly. “Is there gonna be a next time?”

Gerard tries to arrange his face into an innocent expression. “You don’t even know where I was.”

Mikey stares at Gerard for a minute before opening the door and getting out, grabbing his bag from the floor of the front seat. “I’m not stupid, Gerard. I don’t know who you were _with_ , but I bet I could figure it out.”

Gerard gets out of the car as well, scrambling a little bit. “Please don’t.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Trust me, I want to think about it even less than you want me to.”


	8. week seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! it's staples day!!!!!!!!
> 
> my biggest thank yous to my friends for their support and for everyone else who's even been a little interested in this story. i love you all. last week's note was a fucking massive one, so i just want to say everyone who i mentioned in it has my heart this week as well <3
> 
> a slight warning for this one - if anyone is uncomfortable with mentions of religion, going to church, or catholicism in general, i just want to warn you that this is a holiday chapter and irl everyone was raised catholic, so this has been included. there's no religious trauma or guilt or anything, just them going to mass on christmas eve, because it's that time of year and that's how it's working out for the timeline. i just wanted to give a warning just in case!
> 
> also, there is nsfw content in this chapter, but not as explicit as the last time.
> 
> warnings out of the way, i hope you enjoy! please feel free to come say hi to me!!!!!
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

On the last day of class before winter break, Frank gets sent to the guidance counselor’s office after the fourth time he shows up to school with a different bruise on his neck. This wouldn’t happen if fucking Gerard wasn’t a fucking _vampire_ about hickeys, and it’s not like Frank’s complaining, but god, he’s going to have to start wearing scarves inside like an asshole if Gerard can’t move his shit down by like four inches.

“So,” the guidance counselor says, looking down at the note in front of her not _nearly_ as discreetly as she clearly thinks she’s being, “Frank. Do you know why you were asked to come see me?”

Frank knows. “No,” he lies, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “As far as I know, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Well, that seems to be the case to me,” the counselor replies. She’s fairly young, and Frank can tell that she’s trying to seem like she knows a lot more than she actually does. “Your grades are wonderful and most of your teachers have, honestly, glowing things to say about you. The thing is, Frank, it’s actually something your teachers have brought up to me that they wanted me to speak with you about.”

“Oh,” Frank says, feigning innocence. “What’s that?”

The guidance counselor makes a weird, aborted gesture towards his neck, then thinks better of it. “Is everything okay at home?”

Frank physically has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Jesus Christ, the incompetency. He decides, regretfully, to go with the truth. He points toward his throat. “They’re hickeys.”

She starts a little bit in surprise. “Oh!”

“Yeah,” Frank says. “It’s – I’m eighteen, it’s not a big deal.”

“Well, you know,” the guidance counselor begins, looking like she’d rather be doing anything than having this conversation, eyes flicking towards a pamphlet by the door that says _Waiting For Marriage: God’s Plan For You_ with a picture of a boring looking heterosexual couple holding hands, “the thing is –”

“Am I in trouble?” Frank interrupts. His cheeks are starting to go pink, and he hates it. “Can I go, or…?”

“Oh – no, you’re not in trouble,” the guidance counselor manages, and Frank immediately stands.

“Cool,” he says. “Since we’ve established that everything’s _fine_ at home, and I have a free period, I’m gonna go.”

The guidance counselor doesn’t stop him as he leaves her office, immediately beelining for his car.

He calls Gerard while he’s in the parking lot. Gerard picks up on the third ring. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Frank says. “I’m coming over.”

“Okay,” Gerard replies, sounding like he’s in the middle of something. “We only have, like, an hour. We’re gonna have to be quick today.”

Frank unlocks his car. “Gerard, believe it or not, I do like seeing you for reasons _other_ than sex. I mostly want to complain today.”

Gerard laughs. “So, do you want to do the thing where –”

“Aw, you know me so well,” Frank says, starting the car and backing out of his parking spot, and Gerard laughs again. “Is Mikey home?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard says, then pulls away from the speaker, shouting, “HEY, MIKEY!” There’s a moment of silence before Gerard comes back to the phone and says, “No.”

“Cool,” Frank replies. “I mean, it’s always nice when I don’t have to park around the block.”

He gets to Gerard’s house as fast as he possibly fucking can, which comes out to just under nine minutes. Gerard always unlocks the door when Frank calls him before coming over, which is fucking great, because their window before having to go to fucking Staples has been cut even shorter after Frank’s stupid meeting with the guidance counselor.

“Hey,” Gerard calls when Frank comes in, looking up at Frank crossing the room from where he’s hunched over at his desk, his hair falling in his face and a smudge of charcoal on his cheek. “How was – mmph.”

Frank cuts him off with a kiss, crowding into the space between Gerard and his desk, Gerard’s hands immediately leaving his project and coming to Frank’s waist, and Gerard pulls away for a second and then continues, “That bad, huh?”

“I hate,” Frank replies, pausing to kiss Gerard again, “fucking Catholic school.”

“To be fair,” Gerard says, then kisses Frank back, “you’re almost done.” Kiss. “I know it’s been a fucking long time, but,” kiss, “you’re almost there, you can do it.” Another kiss.

“I _know_ I can do it.” Frank pauses to brush Gerard’s hair out of his eyes. Gerard’s still sitting in his desk chair, so his head is tilted up to gaze at Frank, his eyes soft, and Frank ignores the swelling warmth in his heart at how Gerard is looking at him. He brushes his thumb across the charcoal smear on Gerard’s cheek and that stupid warmth in his chest goes all jittery when Gerard leans into the touch. “I just hate it.”

Gerard moves one of his hands to the waistband of Frank’s jeans and hooks the first two fingers between the fabric and his skin. “How can I make it better?” he asks, but they both know the question is rhetorical, because Gerard’s fingers are already moving.

Frank complains about his day for as long as he fucking can, one hand gripping the corner of Gerard’s desk and the other tangled in his hair, trying to stay as eloquent as possible and tell Gerard about how his day’s been going, but Gerard starts making interested little listening sounds while he’s sucking Frank’s dick, so Frank ends up having trouble concentrating.

After, when Frank’s returned the favor for Gerard and he’s moved to the couch to lie down with his chin propped up on the armrest so he can watch Gerard sketching, Frank asks, “Have you heard back from anyone yet?”

Gerard frowns, glances up from his project, then looks back down at it. “No,” he says, and Frank can tell he’s trying to hide the way the corner of his mouth is turning down. “But, you know, it’s almost Christmas. They’re probably not doing anything until the new year.”

Frank recently got put on the short list of people with whom Gerard will actually talk about the stagnancy of his career, which gives him a weird sense of both apprehension, because the only other person Gerard will talk to about this is Mikey, and an odd, smug feeling of warmth over Gerard _trusting_ him like this. He knows Gerard doesn’t want to talk about it a _lot_ , but that when he does, he likes to be asked first, so Frank’s taken to bringing it up every so often.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he says now, watching some of Gerard’s hair fall into his eyes and itching to brush it away. “You’re gonna get a call, I know it.”

Gerard glances over at him with a small smile. “Thanks, Frankie. You don’t have to say that, but. Thanks anyway.”

“Of course I have to say it,” Frank replies, frowning. “It’s true.”

Gerard sort of rolls his eyes, clearly not believing Frank, but Frank doesn’t press the issue.

They drive separately to Staples for the sake of appearances, even though they both know that Frank is going to come back later tonight and sneak into the basement after Mikey goes upstairs. He feels high with the secrecy of whatever the fuck they have going on with each other, with the sheer amount that Gerard wants him, with the risk and his rapidly growing feelings for Gerard making his chest more fluttery on a daily basis. They didn’t talk about not telling anyone, not really, but it had been the sort of thing that they’d agreed on without discussing it. Gerard is self-conscious and would probably not talk about _anything_ real if he had his way, and Frank doesn’t want to have to deal with any shit anyone else might have to say right now.

It’s not urgent to him. It’s not like they’re _married_ or anything. They’ve just been fucking for a few weeks.

Granted, it’s been almost every day for those few weeks, but it’s not like Frank’s keeping track.

A small part of Frank screams _what is this!_ in his head at least twice a day, sometimes at himself when he has an unbidden thought sneaking to the forefront of his mind about how he feels about Gerard, the feeling somehow always larger and more sweeping than he’d been expecting. Other times it’s at Gerard, when he calls Frank _baby_ but only when they’re fucking, when on the nights they don’t spend together they talk on the phone for far too long, Frank purposely keeping his voice hushed on the off chance he might be overheard, when Gerard looks at Frank in a way that makes Frank think _this isn't just sex_.

He tries not to think that. He doesn’t know if Gerard wants it to be more than just sex. Again, they haven’t talked about it.

But Gerard likes kissing him on his neck and over his heart, so the part of Frank that reads too much and is a fucking sucker for shit like that is screaming at him to think harder about the looming wall of feelings lurking in the back of his brain.

Despite that, Frank drives to Staples and tries, like he has been for almost two months at this point, think about _anything_ other than Gerard.

“Okay, be honest with me,” Mikey says when Frank comes back from Dunkin, with a coffee for everyone in the store, an hour into their shift. “What the _fuck_ is going on with you?”

“What?” Frank asks, handing Mikey his drink. Mikey takes it, not shifting his extreme focus away from Frank even the slightest bit. “What are you talking about?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Who are you fucking?”

“Fucking?” Frank repeats. He wishes he could come up with a single thing to actually say, but his brain is just playing Mikey’s words on repeat instead of giving him a response. _Think of something!_ “What’s that?”

Mikey looks at him like he’s stupid. Which, Frank concedes, he is.

“I can’t fucking believe,” Mikey says slowly, “that you had the balls to look me in the eye right now and say that. You’re the worst fucking liar I’ve ever met in my _life_ , you’re worse than Gerard.”

Frank sighs. Mikey waits. “Look, I just – I don’t… want… to tell you,” he manages, fucking lamely.

Mikey raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his coffee. In a guilt-inducing, wheedling tone, Mikey says, “Frank, I thought we were _friends_.”

“We _are_ friends,” Frank begins.

“Okay, solid,” Mikey replies. “I’m glad we established that! Now tell me who’s wrecking your shit.”

“Oh my _god_.” The words come out tripping over a laugh, and Mikey grins at Frank evilly. “No one!”

“Jesus Christ, first you say you don’t want to tell me, and now you’re saying it’s _no one_?” Mikey looks at Frank skeptically. “You’re so bad at this. Am I supposed to believe that you gave those to yourself?” He gestures to Frank’s neck, and Frank’s hand creeps up involuntarily to cover it.

“Yeah, obviously.”

Mikey regards Frank with a flat expression for a moment longer before he says, “Ray wants to do a Secret Santa thing. Just with the four of us.”

Extremely grateful for the change in subject, Frank jumps at Mikey’s words. “Oh, really? That would be so sick, we should do it.”

“And then,” Mikey continues, “Pete’s having a thing on Christmas Eve. Or, I guess, technically Christmas morning. Whatever. It’s a Christmas party.”

Frank blinks. “Who? _Who’s_ having a Christmas party?”

Mikey sighs, deeply. “Party City Pete.”

“Oh, him,” Frank says, grinning. “See, I couldn’t figure out who you were talking about when you didn’t use his full name.”

“You’re hilarious,” Mikey replies sarcastically. “Anyway, we’re all going to be looped into going to Mass that night, right?”

“Yeah, probably. I don’t know about Ray, but I’m going.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mikey says. “So I told him if we came, it wouldn’t be until late.”

Frank gives Mikey a look. “Do you want to go?”

Mikey shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like we have anything else to do.”

“We could go to Ray’s,” Frank counters. He takes a sip of his coffee. “Or we could go home and go to sleep and wait for Santa like good little boys.”

After another flat look from Mikey, Frank continues, a grin on his face, “Yeah, I don’t like that, either.”

Ray makes them draw names out of a hat at Subway.

Gerard’s the only one who actually _has_ a hat, so Ray snatches it off of his head by the brim, ignoring Gerard’s protests, and throws in four little slips of paper that he’d written on and cut out back at Staples.

“Okay,” Ray says, looking like he’s about to do the most exciting thing of his life, a huge grin on his face, as Gerard sort of scratches his fingers in his hair to get rid of the hat effect and Frank tries not to look at his hands, “here are the rules. Don’t spend more than ten dollars, we’re all broke. And don’t _fucking_ tell anyone else who you have,” he looks pointedly at Frank here, who opens his mouth, offended.

“Why the fuck are you looking at _me_?” Frank demands. Gerard snickers next to him and Frank gives him a look. “What?”

“You never shut the fuck up,” Mikey says. He takes a sip of his soda and then continues, “Honestly, the amount of secrets you’ve managed to keep from me so far without spilling your guts is at a grand total of one. And it’s a new secret, so. I’ll find out.”

Frank narrows his eyes at Mikey. “Dude, shut _up_ , I’m not gonna tell you.”

Mikey shrugs. “We’ll see. Anyway, Ray, please continue.”

“Well, I’m sure you guys know the rules to Secret Santa,” Ray says, and shakes the hat a little for effect. “But basically, have it done by Christmas Eve, because I think Mikey said we’re all going to Mass and then PCP’s thing, so we can do our exchange in between.”

“Did you just call him PCP?” Gerard asks, reaching across the table to pull a name out of the hat. Ray extends the hat towards him. Gerard pulls out a paper and goes, “Oh. That’s me. Hold on.”

“Yeah, I called him PCP,” Ray replies as Gerard digs around in the hat again for another paper, finally pulling out one that’s presumably _not_ himself and raising the folded slip in the air triumphantly like he’s pumping his fist. “It’s way shorter than saying Party City Pete every time.”

“I mean, we could just not talk about him at all,” Mikey says, reaching into the hat as well. “That would work for me.”

Frank, getting a name out of the hat, grins at Mikey and says, “Yeah, sure, but then how will we annoy you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Mikey replies loftily. “You already do it so well and so often.”

Frank opens the paper. _Mikey_ , it says, in Ray’s neat handwriting. “Sick,” he says, out loud. “I already have _so_ many ideas.”

Frank was lying. He doesn’t have _any_ ideas.

“So, do you think –” he says to Gerard on Monday night, lying on the Gerard’s couch and watching tv with his head on Gerard’s leg. Gerard’s hand, which had been swirling random little patterns into Frank’s hair, stops abruptly.

“Do I think what?” Gerard asks. “You better not be fucking about to ask me what you should get for your Secret Santa.”

Frank frowns and sits up. “How did you know?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “You’re not exactly _subtle_ , Frankie, and the fact that you’re asking _me_ means it’s either me or Mikey.”

“ _Wow_.” Frank draws out the word for as long as he can, until Gerard starts laughing. “You’re so _smart_.”

“So, which one is it?”

“Ray said not to tell,” Frank says, and Gerard pokes him.

“As if you weren’t about to tell me anyway!”

“I wasn’t! I was going to… allude to it. Also, if it _is_ you or Mikey, you should know I’m giving _you_ something either way, so.” Frank sits back and crosses his arms, like that’s going to do anything to hide the stupid heat on his face at telling Gerard this.

“Oh!” Gerard says, looking surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Frank replies, shrugging. “I wanted to.”

Gerard is quiet for a moment, like he’s thinking, and then he says, “Well, I was going to get you something, too, but.”

Frank points at Gerard, sharply, making him jump, and says, “Ha! Who’s revealing their Secret Santa now!”

“Oh my god, shut up, I _wasn’t_ ,” Gerard tries to argue, but he’s laughing, so his point is completely undermined.

“I can’t believe I wasn’t the first one to break! I knew it! I knew I wasn’t the worst one!”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Gerard says. He’s smiling, though, and he’s looking at Frank like he thinks exactly the opposite.

Frank raises his hands in an exaggerated shrugging motion. “You love me.”

Gerard kisses him.

It’s only later, when everything is quiet and dark and Frank is still awake but only because he’s trying to gather the motivation to get out of Gerard’s bed and sneak back to his own house, that he realizes maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It isn't like Gerard seemed all that _bothered_ by it, considering his reaction, and Frank had said it in a light, teasing way, but fuck, he’s starting to overthink it.

The thing is, and Frank can admit this to himself, that he doesn’t want to do or say anything that might scare Gerard away. Gerard didn’t seem explicitly _bothered_ by what Frank said, given how they’d proceeded to fuck twice over the rest of the night, and it isn't like Frank had said it in a way that had had any seriousness behind it, but still. He’d dropped, albeit jokingly, a _word_.

Yeah. He’s probably overthinking this.

Frank reluctantly drags himself out of bed at four in the morning, out of habit at this point, and he’s starting to get dressed when there’s movement behind him and Gerard’s breathing changes into something that sounds more half awake.

“Oh,” he says, and Frank looks behind him. He can’t really see anything, but he can make out Gerard rubbing at one eye and squinting at him in the dark. Gerard reaches out and catches Frank’s wrist right as he’s about to stand up, so Frank stays seated on the edge of the bed. “Are you going?”

“Yeah,” Frank replies, voice soft. “I always go around now, you know that.”

“Oh,” Gerard says again. His words are coming out all small and scratchy and Frank feels a swelling in his chest. He reaches out to brush Gerard’s stupid, messy hair out of his face as Gerard continues, “I thought maybe you would stay since you’re out of school.”

Frank pauses, and he knows Gerard can’t see it, but he tries to keep the little smile on his face from turning into something truly ridiculous. Finally, he says, “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, his voice tiny in a way that tells Frank that he’s only fucking _barely_ awake, because if he was fully awake he probably wouldn’t be saying this, “I always want you to stay.”

A small part of Frank is fucking _screaming_ at him right now, but Frank doesn’t care enough right now to interpret the words that it’s saying. Despite this, as he gets back under the blankets and settles into a weirdly comfortable position with what feels like every part of him tangled up in Gerard, Frank has the slightly jarring thought that maybe the word he dropped wasn’t entirely as joking as he’d originally thought it to be.

Frank, of course, ignores it, and instead lets the steady comforts of both Gerard’s heartbeat and the tiny, gentle, back-and-forth motions that his thumb is making on Frank’s shoulder lull him into sleep.

The rest of the week, without having to be in school or really do anything other than show up for work twice, passes surprisingly quickly for Frank. After Monday, he comes to the embarrassing conclusion that he can’t spend _all_ his time with Gerard, as much as he’s starting to realize that he’d really fucking like to, so Frank divides his time between band practice and Christmas-centric stuff with his mom and trying to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to get Mikey for Secret Santa and sneaking into Gerard’s basement when it’s late enough that they’re the only ones still awake.

They don’t work on Friday, due to the gods at the Staples Corporation deciding to grant their employees both Christmas Eve and Day off, so Frank spends the day wrapping last minute presents and stealing shit from his mom in the kitchen, who’s been trying to put something together for tomorrow when they go to his grandparents’ house and hearing _if you don’t get the hell out of the kitchen, Frankie, I’m gonna_ but never finding out exactly what the end of that threat is.

Frank isn't particularly – or, perhaps more accurately, _actively_ – religious, but he’s forced to go to Mass once a week at his stupid school anyway, so it isn't like he can’t fake being interested for an hour. The worst part, he thinks, is that he’s going to have to wear a stupid outfit and he’s probably not going to have time to change afterwards, because the plan is that Ray’s driving separately since he doesn’t live with his parents, so he’s going to drive them afterwards, which means Frank’s going to be stuck in a stupid fucking tie at Party City Pete’s.

Frank’s only consolations are that he finally nailed down an idiotic as all fuck gift for Mikey and managed to get his shit together with it and that even though he’s going to be in a lame outfit, there’s no way his friends won’t _also_ be, so at least he won’t be alone in this.

He also spent some time this week putting something together for Gerard, but he’s not planning on giving it to him when they’re doing the big Secret Santa exchange, so for now it’s just burning a hole in his pocket.

Frank’s mom makes him wear a stupid suit jacket and a stupid tie and makes him comb his hair like some sort of _adult_ and he somehow feels both like he’s thirty and like he’s the seven-year-old ring bearer at his aunt’s wedding or something. It wouldn’t be as bad if he didn’t have to wear the jacket, or if the jacket _fit_ , but it’s slightly too big and he’s never felt more out of place and fucking _itchy_ with it. She doesn’t make him take out any of his piercings, though. The outfit is bad enough, at least he doesn’t have to show his face looking approximately twelve years old.

Midnight Mass isn't actually at midnight, so they show up at the church at about a quarter to ten. Frank fucking _hates_ the crowds of churchgoers, but he tries his best to entertain himself by scanning the pews for his friends as he dips his fingers in the holy water by the door and crosses himself before following his mom to an empty space they can squeeze into.

By some miracle, Frank ends up with his mom on one side and Ray, who’s a picture of politeness and respectability in his own suit, on his other side, grinning at Frank and introducing himself to Frank’s mom with a handshake and a _Merry Christmas_. After some looking around, Frank catches sight of Mikey’s head across the church in a section that’s angled to the side, so as Frank stares intently at his friend after elbowing Ray, Mikey evidently picks up on Frank’s attention and gives him a little wave. Gerard, next to Mikey, had been looking off in the opposite direction when Mikey had finally noticed Frank, but he looks over as well after a whispered word from Mikey.

They both look good. Ray looks good. Everyone seems to be looking nicer in their church outfits than Frank does.

Frank resolutely does _not_ stare at Gerard and his hair, which is also combed but, unlike Frank’s, somehow looks so _good_ , as the processional hymn begins, and they all stand.

“I look so fucking stupid,” Frank complains after Mass, sitting on the hood of Ray’s car with Ray leaning against the front bumper, Frank’s knees against his back.

Mikey, next to Frank on the hood, passes him a lit cigarette and says, “Yeah, you do,” and then proceeds to grin wickedly at Frank when Frank shoves him.

“Stop being so mean to yourself,” Ray says. He looks over his shoulder at Frank. “You look nice. It’s better now that you’re not wearing that jacket.”

Frank had ditched the ill-fitting suit jacket as soon as they’d gotten out of church, tossing it in the backseat of his mom’s car and exchanging it for his own regular jacket and the little bag holding Mikey’s Secret Santa gift. He’d also proceeded to noticeably loosen his tie and roll up his sleeves, so he thinks he looks less awful for the time being.

“Well, I think you look very handsome,” Gerard says. He looks at just Frank for a beat too long and then adds, “All of you.”

“You told me I looked like an idiot earlier,” Mikey says offhandedly.

Gerard shrugs. “Yeah, that’s because you had your hair brushed back weirdly and it made your forehead look big.”

Frank narrows his eyes. “I’m with Mikey on this. I’m not gonna call you a liar, because I know you wouldn’t do that in the house of the Lord,” Gerard rolls his eyes massively and sighs, “but I know false witness when I see it… beared.”

“It’s _borne_ ,” Mikey corrects. “Jesus, I thought you went to Catholic school.”

“If you think he pays attention, that’s your first mistake,” Ray says, and Frank pokes him in the back of the head. “Ow. Okay, how long are we going to stand outside and freeze before we start trading gifts and then go to the next warm place?”

After some bickering and finagling, they come to the conclusion that, in order to keep it at least something of a secret, Mikey and Frank have to come off the hood of the car and everyone closes their eyes while each person sticks their gift on the hood.

“And then when it’s your turn, you just go up and grab the one for you, but no one saw who put it there, so then it’s a secret,” Ray finishes explaining.

“Sick,” Frank says. “Everyone, close your eyes.”

They arrange their gifts on the hood of Ray’s car in a little pile and huddle together and smoke while the gifts are taken off and opened up one by one. Gerard goes first, because according to Ray’s rules, the person whose birthday is next is the starter. He opens a meticulously wrapped package, revealing a mug with schematics of Luke Skywalker’s X-Wing fighter on the side, filled with what looks like candy and some art pencils.

“Oh!” Gerard says, and he looks immediately at Ray. “You remembered!”

“Yeah, of course,” Ray replies, shrugging like it’s not a big deal, but he’s clearly proud of himself. “He was… complaining that he ran out of this one kind,” Ray continues, by way of explanation to Frank and Mikey.

“Yeah, like last month! Dude, I can’t believe you remembered! You’re the best, thank you,” Gerard says earnestly, stepping forward to give Ray a hug. “This is amazing, I love it. You’re next, right?”

Ray’s gift is badly but sincerely wrapped in paper with little stars all over it, and when he gets it open, he finds a mug that reads _Have You Eaten Your Cucumber Today?_ with a little bag of guitar picks and an envelope inside of it. He laughs when he sees the mug, and says, “So, I guess we have a theme in our gifts?”

“We drink a lot of coffee,” Mikey offers, “and besides, I got you a mug last year, so. It seemed fitting.”

Ray’s smile is fucking infectious. “You didn’t even let me guess!”

“You knew it was from me,” Mikey replies, and lets himself get swept up into a hug from Ray.

“Thank you,” he says once they’ve separated. “These are my favorite picks.”

“I know.” Mikey points inside the mug. “The envelope has a signed note from Guitar Center Cortez promising that the next time you come in you can get half off on basically anything that isn't crazy expensive.”

“Thank you,” Ray says again, softer this time.

“You’re welcome,” Mikey replies, sounding very sincere. “Is it me now?”

Frank, of course, knows what Mikey’s gift is, as he’s the one who put it together, but he’s been having a fucking hard time not laughing as the last two gifts had been opened. Mikey peers into the little gift bag that Frank had addressed to him (with a little heart over the _i_ in Mikey) and says, “Oh my god,” before pulling out the third mug of the evening.

“Holy shit,” Ray says, slightly awed. “Three in a row! I’d be fucking suspicious that someone had _told_ if I wasn’t one of them.”

Mikey reads the side of the mug ( _Master Baiter: Always Playing With My Tackle_ with a picture of a fish attached to a hook), clearly trying not to grin, and then looks inside it with a frown. “What the fuck is _this_ , Frank?”

Frank, feigning innocence, raises his hands in the air defensively. “Why do you assume it’s me?”

Mikey gives him a look. “You idiot, the only other person left is _Gerard_ , and I know _he_ didn’t get me a fucking jerk off joke on a mug. Anyway, what the fuck is _this_?”

He pulls out two pieces of thick paper. “Oh, those?” Frank says brightly. “Those are two tickets to go see Stuart Little in theaters on a night of your choice! How exciting.”

“ _Wow_ , two whole tickets? I can take anyone I want?” Mikey asks sarcastically.

“Yeah, maybe you can take Party City Pete on this extremely nice date,” Frank says. Gerard laughs.

Mikey glares at Frank and says, “You better watch out or I’m gonna fucking take _you_.”

Grimacing, Frank rapidly attempts to change the subject by saying, “Anyway, it’s my turn, right?”

There’s only one gift. He knows it’s from Gerard. Weirdly, Frank almost feels nervous about opening this in front of Mikey and Ray, even though the logical part of his brain says that Gerard wouldn’t give him anything that would _mean_ anything other than friendship in front of other people. They aren’t telling anyone. Not yet, anyway.

He starts to open the present, and Gerard says, “Look, the – Ray’s right, there was an accidental theme, I think.”

It’s a mug, just like everyone else got, but this one’s clearly been hand-painted. Fucking painstakingly, Frank thinks, looking at it but not really registering what it is, until something clicks and he says, “That’s my band.”

“Yeah, I just,” Gerard says, sounding nervous, “I had the flyer from that gig we all went to, still, and, you know, I thought maybe a mug would last longer than like, the millions of shirts you have.”

It’s a depiction of the art on the flyer that Frank had given Gerard for the gig he’d finally come to, with _Pencey Prep_ across the top and the date on the bottom. He looks up; Gerard looks supremely embarrassed, like he did something wrong or stupid, but Frank wants to kiss him and he doesn’t care that they’re in a church parking lot and their friends are there and that he and Gerard don’t fully know what they are to each other yet.

“Thank you,” he says instead, softly, but there’s a bit of heat in his stomach, and he knows Gerard can tell. “I love it.”

Frank gives Gerard a hug and he tries to make it quick and friendly and not like he cares about him in any other way, but it’s fucking _hard_ with his cheek pressed against Gerard’s supremely kissable neck. They manage to separate without doing anything revealing or embarrassing or stupid, and then Ray breaks the ensuing silence.

“So,” Ray says, clapping his gloved hands together, the sound muted in the cold air, “Party City Pete’s?”

By the time they get to Party City Pete’s house, Frank is fucking _itching_ from forcing himself to not jump Gerard.

It had started as soon as Gerard had given him that stupid mug. The weight of how much Frank fucking _cares_ about Gerard had taken up residence in his chest, heavy and warm and beating against his ribcage, fucking erratically, like a stone being thrown repeatedly. They’d been sitting in the back of Ray’s car, like they always do when Ray drives all of them together, and Frank had been aching to touch Gerard, even a little bit, but he’d been afraid that if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d been afraid to even _look_ at Gerard, so he’d stayed either staring vacantly out the window or with his gaze held loosely ahead, only catching sights of Gerard through his periphery.

Ray had been playing Christmas music on the radio, and Gerard had started singing along at one point, and the feeling in Frank’s chest had twisted into something just as heavy, but sweeter, and Frank had turned to look at Gerard. Gerard had had his head leaned back against the headrest, eyes half-closed, singing along softly to _O Holy Night_.

Frank hadn’t known Gerard could sing. It had made him fucking unable to stop listening, to stop looking.

“We just _left_ church, Gee,” Mikey had said from the front seat, when the song had ended, and Gerard had grinned in response.

“Put on something more fun, then,” he’d replied to his brother, who had proceeded to switch to another, far more secular holiday station.

Something unique about Catholicism is the prevalence of kneeling during Mass. The many years of religion classes that Frank has been forced to sit through have made him very aware that it’s supposed to be a reverent moment, something intimate and sacred and deeply spiritual. Despite this, as they pull up to Party City Pete’s house, as Frank watches Gerard pull a hand through his combed hair, making it messy again, his awareness of kneeling and his many years of practice doing exactly this have caused his mind to wander and for him to begin to think up what other reverent, intimate moments he could have on his knees tonight.

There are less people at the house this time. Frank supposes this is because less people want to go out on Christmas Eve, so they have a much easier time getting in past the foyer than they had at the last party. This time, though, despite not having any reason to worry about getting separated, Frank slips his fingers through one of Gerard’s belt loops.

Gerard looks behind himself at the touch, and Frank shrugs. “I don’t want to get lost.”

“Okay,” Gerard says, his words slow in a way that makes Frank feel like he’s completely unhinged.

Most of the night is a blur. Not because of anything wild that happens, but because Frank is driven to fucking distraction by Gerard simply _being._ They talk, they drink, they smoke, they watch Mikey brush off Party City Pete’s attention enough times for it to start to become embarrassing. All Frank can think of, though, is how the last time they were here, he’d felt like this, but somehow less. Like this, but almost afraid to do anything about it.

He’s not afraid right now. He’s just fucking impatient.

He wants to go kiss Gerard in the bathroom again. That thought worms its way into Frank’s brain and fucking refuses to leave. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to think of a discreet way for both of them to disappear, his brain is fully taken up by the tingly, rolling warmth of how his lungs feel, stuttering and fucking stupid, when Gerard touches him even slightly.

They’re outside. “I need another drink,” Gerard says, peering into his can with one eye closed, as though to see better. “Anyone else?”

Ray says, “I’m good,” and Mikey shakes his head, letting out a puff of smoke from one of his rare cigarettes.

Gerard stands, and Frank says, “I’ll come with you.”

“Cool,” Gerard says, and Frank catches his eyes. There’s a moment of understanding between them; Gerard knows.

Gerard barely has time to throw his empty can into the plastic bag of trash in the kitchen before Frank is grabbing his hand and all but dragging him to the bathroom. By some miracle, the door is open, no one’s inside, and Gerard is laughing as Frank pulls him along.

Frank shuts the door, pauses, Gerard having stepped further into the bathroom ahead of him. He rests his hand against the door for a moment, and then turns around and just fucking _looks_ at Gerard, who’s regarding him with dark eyes.

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he says, “Gerard.”

Gerard replies, “Frank,” like they’re playing a game. Frank’s body is in motion before Gerard even finishes the word.

The night is a blur again, but because too many things are happening and Frank’s stupid want for Gerard is getting fucking _feverish_. Frank’s aware of several things; coming forward and kissing Gerard fiercely, sharply; Gerard’s hand pulling at Frank’s tie in a way that makes him glad he’s still wearing it; ending up on the counter, Gerard between his legs, one hand in Gerard’s hair and the other fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, _this is so stupid,_ Frank says against Gerard’s skin, the music from outside muted and weird, their breaths echoing off the tile in the bathroom. They knocked over a bunch of shit on the sink, Frank doesn’t know whose hands did that, but then again, he barely knows anything right now. His mind is empty and his mouth is spilling out words that he forgets as soon as they leave him, the reality of Gerard’s mouth mingling with scattered memories of how Gerard had caught his eye during Mass and held Frank’s gaze while he’d said _I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned in my thoughts and in my words_ , and maybe it had been intentional and maybe it hadn’t, but Frank doesn’t have the presence of mind to process it right now.

 _Yeah, it’s stupid, I know_ , Gerard tells him, kissing him on the inside of his hip, and Frank’s hand tightens in Gerard’s hair.

Frank has a moment of clarity. Gerard is on his knees, he fucking _loves_ being on his knees, he likes getting Frank off, he likes being the one to make Frank fall apart, and he’s looking up at Frank right now with singularly focused, fucking beautiful eyes. Frank runs his thumb across Gerard’s temple and thinks, without preamble, _I love him_.

There’s half a second of feeling like he just figured something out, and then immediate fear. It must show in his face, because Gerard frowns slightly and says, “Are you okay?”

“Shit,” Frank says, refocusing, “Yeah, I’m –”

The door bursts open.

“Shit!” Frank repeats, but this time it comes out as a shout, and he and Gerard both turn to the door to see Party City Pete, standing with his hand on the doorknob and looking mortified.

“Oh, my god!” Pete yells, then claps a hand to his face, seemingly trying to cover both his mouth and his eyes. “Fuck!”

“Jesus Christ!” Gerard snaps, and Frank becomes aware that he’s moving, getting himself off the counter, standing behind Gerard so he can get his fucking dick back in his pants while trying to let Pete see as little of him as possible. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

Pete removes his hand from his face and steps inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Frank can feel himself blushing furiously, stupidly, tellingly. “Dude, haven’t _you_ ever heard of locking a door? Or maybe not sucking someone’s dick in my bathroom?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Gerard replies, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you _in_ here?”

Pete stares at Gerard like he’s stupid. “I have to piss! It’s my bathroom! I shut the door to yell at you in privacy! And by the way, I _did_ knock! It’s not my fault you were _busy_ and didn’t hear!”

Frank hears the first words leave his mouth since Pete opened the door. “Are you going to say anything?”

Pete rolls his eyes. “I’m not a complete asshole, Frank. Now, can you please leave? I have to pee.”

They are unceremoniously ushered out of the bathroom. No one else is in the hall; it’s getting late enough that people are starting to head home. Frank leans against the wall, Gerard standing on the opposite side, and they look anywhere but at each other for a few moments before Gerard breaks the silence.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” Frank replies. His heart feels like it’s beating at a million miles an hour. He doesn’t know what to say about what just happened and he doesn’t think Gerard does, either. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. He’s gonna tell Mikey,” Gerard says, after another minute or so. He looks upset by this.

“Would that be awful?”

Gerard looks off to the side. “I don’t know. I don’t – I don’t want him to find out like this.”

Something detached inside of Frank starts to boil at that, but he can’t put a finger on why.

“He’s gonna find out eventually,” he says instead. “Why don’t you want to tell him?”

Gerard shrugs. “It’s nice, you know, when it’s just us, and I don’t. Fuck. I don’t want to hear Mikey talk shit.”

“Do you think he would?”

“Yeah.”

There’s another moment of silence. Party City Pete comes out of the bathroom and heads back out into the house and does not look at either of them as he passes.

“Do you want to stop?” Frank asks, and he feels like his throat is closing up when he says it, but he has to know. “Just, I don’t want to stress you out, and if you don’t think – I don’t know what you _do_ think, but if you don’t want to, then –”

“No,” Gerard interrupts quickly, eyes wide. “I don’t want to stop.”

Gerard doesn’t elaborate on anything else, really. Nothing substantial, nothing that Frank wants to wheedle out of him at a fucking party, nothing that he seems to be willing to share that can give Frank a sense of who they are to each other, nothing more than the fact that Gerard doesn’t want to stop whatever this is.

 _It’s not enough_ , a small part of Frank is saying. He doesn’t want to think about that right now, but he’s afraid that he’s running out of time and patience to avoid a conversation.

They go back out to Ray and Mikey and they leave the party shortly afterwards. Ray drives the long way home so that they can see the few houses that still have their Christmas lights on in the middle of the night, the music soft on the radio, and as Frank looks over at Gerard, who’s looking out the window at the twinkling lights but who’s also reached over to twine his fingers through Frank’s among the bundle of jackets on the seat between them, that feeling comes back to his chest and he both knows and is fucking terrified by how he can define it with a word now.

He’s fucked. He’s so fucked.


	9. week eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a big one today, kids. my brain feels melted. i hope you like it <3
> 
> i love you all. thank you to my friends and my team and everyone who has supported me in this. especially thank you to my beta (projektgerard). i really deeply appreciate all of you <3
> 
> come say hi to me <3
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

Gerard has always tended to consider himself something of a solitary creature. He’s always had at least a small group of friends, but he’s also never felt the need to be out and doing things and surrounded by people at all times. On top of this, sometimes it takes him a while to be fully comfortable sharing a space with someone else, at least to the degree that it seems to be expected when you’re friends with someone, so if he’s being honest, sometimes he’d rather not bother. Sometimes he thinks this isn't good for him, but it seems to be working out alright overall. The core of it is, Gerard is okay with not being with other people in times when he’s not required to be.

That being said, Gerard doesn’t know how this happened, but Frank is around all the time, and he likes it.

They didn’t discuss it. Gerard hasn’t exactly made it a _point_ to not talk about things with Frank, but it seems to be happening, and this is one of the things that they haven’t brought up. He knows that Frank is over all the time because he’s out of school and it’s not like he really has much else to do besides work and go to band practice, so he becomes a fixture in Gerard’s room, talking all the time, sometimes bringing his guitar, teasing laughs out of Gerard with stupid fucking jokes and distracting him from shit thoughts with kisses and compliments and a sort of tenderness in the way he’s been looking at Gerard lately that has Gerard scared to ask about it.

It’s gotten to the point where Gerard almost expects to see Frank in his periphery at all times or to hear him doing something or another or have his body crowding into Gerard’s space, needy and demanding, and Gerard is surprised at how weird it feels now when Frank _isn't_ around. Part of him thinks this is risky, this is stupid, this is how they’re going to get caught, and it isn't like they’re doing anything _wrong_ , but he wants it to be just them for as long as he can get. Gerard isn't stupid, he knows Frank is trying to not push him into anything but that he wants to know what to call whatever this is, and that the sneaking around is somewhat hot but that at a certain point it’s not enough, but Gerard has a tendency to avoid shit rather than confronting it head-on and he _knows_ that’s going to bite him in the ass at some point, but fuck, he can’t seem to stop.

There’s a little inkling of fear in the back of his head that Party City Pete _will_ be an asshole about it and say something to Mikey, but from what Gerard knows about him, it seems unlikely, so at this point, their biggest risk is Mikey coming downstairs unannounced. But Mikey is never home, and he always knocks, and so they’ve fallen into this routine.

The routine isn't without its flaws. “Hey,” Frank calls from the bathroom one night, poking his head out of the door. Gerard, fiddling with the VCR player, looks up at his voice. “We’re out of toothpaste. I barely got anything out of this fucker.”

Gerard sits back on his heels. Frank is holding a red toothbrush that absolutely does not belong to him in one hand and a tube of toothpaste that looks like the life has been squeezed out of it in the other. Frank’s hair is messy and he looks just a little bit annoyed by the lack of toothpaste and he’s wearing one of Gerard’s shirts and Gerard is in love with him.

Shit.

He can feel his face heating up at the involuntary thought, and Frank raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean _we_?” Gerard asks, to cover up his own stupidity. “That’s mine, you’re a thief.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t want my teeth to fall out, so what do you expect me to do? Just _not_ brush them? Just because the toothbrush here _technically_ belongs to you? That’s disgusting, Gerard.”

“ _The toothbrush here?_ This is my house!” Gerard tries to sound annoyed, but he’s trying fucking hard to not laugh through his words, and Frank knows it. “You could just _bring_ your stuff, you bring clothes.”

“No, I don’t,” Frank replies. He sticks Gerard’s toothbrush in his mouth and continues, words slightly muffled, “I just take yours.” He points to the shirt he’s wearing.

“Oh my god,” Gerard says, and Frank grins at him, mouth already full of toothpaste foam. “Do you want to keep that toothbrush? Or, like, I have a spare one from the dentist I haven’t opened yet, you can have it, just keep it here.”

Frank doesn’t respond for a minute or so, but something in his expression changes. He finishes brushing his teeth and then reemerges from the bathroom, arms crossed. “You want me to keep a toothbrush here?”

Gerard, embarrassed, shrugs. “I mean, yeah.”

“Really?” Frank asks, his voice careful, the undertone of something a little hopeful clamped down hard. “I’ll get you a new thing of toothpaste.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Gerard says quickly. “It’s okay, there’s more upstairs.”

“Okay,” Frank says, and he’s looking at Gerard like _that_ again, and Gerard opens his mouth, probably to say something stupid.

Instead, he all but runs upstairs before he can say anything he might regret.

“So, what do you think?”

Ray, standing on a stepladder, frowns down at Mikey. “What? Do I think they’re fucking?”

Mikey hands another box filled with smaller boxes of pens inside it to Ray. “Yeah. Do you think they’re fucking?”

Ray grimaces. “Dude, that’s not my business. And honestly…” He cuts himself off and then continues, shaking his head, “Never mind.”

“What?” Mikey presses.

Ray shrugs. “It’s not really any of _yours_ , either.”

Mikey almost expects to be mad. He thinks if anyone else had said that to him, he’d probably be fighting the urge to eviscerate them, but Ray telling him this just… makes it make a bit more sense.

“I know,” Mikey replies, sighing. “Look, I _know_ , it’s not like Gerard’s a little kid, and it’s not like he has to tell me _anything_ , but _Jesus_. You know what I’m saying, right?”

“Yeah,” Ray says, “if they _are_ fucking, it’s weird because Gerard’s your brother and Frank’s like. I don’t know if you guys are _best_ friends, but you’re close, you know?”

Mikey pauses. “It’s normal to be mad if your friend fucks your brother, right?”

“I guess?” Ray’s voice turns up at the end, like he’s trying to figure it out. He starts to come down from the stepladder, adding, “I don’t really know. None of my friends ever fucked my brothers, so.”

“That you know of.”

Ray shudders. “Dude, I don’t want to think about that.”

“See! This is exactly why I don’t want to think about this, either!”

Closing up the stepladder, Ray asks, “So why _are_ you?”

Mikey doesn’t have an answer for that. It’s like a bug bite. He’s had an itch about this for a _while_ , and once it got under his skin, he hasn’t been able to fucking stop scratching at it. Mikey’s been watching Gerard and Frank and the increasingly tighter orbits they’ve been spinning around each other since they met and he’s almost fucking positive that something’s going on between them, but _fuck_ , they’re so careful. Either there’s nothing happening, and Mikey’s reading into a perfectly normal friendship, or there’s some shit going on behind the scenes.

The fact that he doesn’t _know_ is driving him insane for a couple of reasons. The first is that the idea of some shit going on in the house that Mikey and Gerard _both live in_ is baffling to Mikey and makes him feel extremely dense for not having seen anything yet. That feeling makes him all the surer that there _is_ something to dig into, and that to prove that he’s not stupid, he needs to get to the bottom of it.

Mikey’s second reason for being unable to just let this shit go from his head is far pettier – he’s fucking _insulted_ that neither of them have thought to tell him about something big happening to them. Mikey might not be Frank’s best friend, but he _knows_ he’s Gerard’s, and they’ve never really had too much secrecy between them.

He wonders, briefly, if he’s doing something wrong, and if that’s why Gerard doesn’t trust him with this.

“I don’t know,” Mikey says out loud, in response to Ray’s question, and they start to take the empty boxes out to the dumpsters. “It’s an itch.”

“Well, stop it,” Ray replies mildly, holding the door open behind him for Mikey to slip through, his arms full of boxes. “You’re gonna get a scar.”

Frank looks up from the envelope that Ray hands him at Subway. “What’s this?”

Ray rolls his eyes, handing the rest of the envelopes in his hand to everyone else sitting at the table. “Open it and find out.” He doesn’t say _you idiot_ , but Frank can hear it in his voice.

He grins at Ray, poking his fingers under the edge of the envelope flap and easing it open. Ordinarily, Frank wouldn’t be concerned with maintaining any sort of structure to the envelope, but his motivations are twofold. The envelope is nice, which means Ray put some effort into it, and so Frank doesn’t want to completely destroy it. Also, in his periphery, Frank can see Gerard watching the motion of his fingers, so he decides to be an asshole about it and take his time.

Unfortunately, Frank’s painstaking, dramatic reveal of whatever’s in the envelope from Ray is undermined when Mikey opens his much more quickly and announces, “It’s an invitation to a New Year’s party. Ray, you didn’t have to make invitations.”

“I know,” Ray replies, cheeks going a little pink, “but look, I wanted to, it’s like. I’m trying to throw a grown-up party. You have to dress nice.”

“Define _nice_ ,” Frank says, pulling out his own invitation and bringing it over to the middle of his side of the table so that Gerard can lean over and read it. Why go through the trouble of opening two if you don’t have to, right?

He thinks he sees Mikey’s eyes narrow slightly, but he brushes it off. He’s probably imagining it.

“I don’t know! Nice. Something better than the shit you normally wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the shit I normally wear!” Frank counters. “And you can’t say anything about today, because I’m wearing work clothes, and they suck.”

Frank is also wearing one of Gerard’s shirts underneath his Staples polo, the long sleeves a bit too long for him, so his petition for Ray to leave his current outfit alone has the ulterior motive of not being caught in the act.

Ray opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but Frank is saved by the sudden appearance of Party City Pete at the end of their table. He never thought that he’d be _saved_ by Pete showing up, especially after the shit that happened the _last_ time he appeared unexpectedly, but here he is, stopping the conversation at the booth in its tracks by his mere presence.

Next to Frank, Gerard says, “Hi, Pete,” and under the table, Frank punches Gerard’s leg.

Pete sighs, his jaw set, and glances off to the side before replying, “Hi, Gerard,” in the most sullen tone Frank has ever heard from him. “Sorry, I just – I came to see if you guys had any plans for New Year’s? I’m trying to see if people are already busy because I’m sick of hosting.”

“Oh!” Ray produces another invitation from seemingly out of nowhere, but Frank is guessing that it came from the inside of his jacket. “This is actually for you. I’m having a thing, you’re welcome to come.”

“Really?” Pete looks surprised, but happy about it. “That’s so nice of you, thank you, Ray.”

“Yeah, thank you, Ray,” Mikey says, in a tight, flat voice, eyes trained on Ray, who either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.

“Well, I wanted to invite people from, you know,” Ray waves a hand in a weird little circular motion, as though to indicate the employees of the various stores in the shopping center. “Which reminds me!” Ray gets up and heads over to the Subway counter to hand an invitation to the girl on the other side, who Frank thinks he’s had maybe one conversation with aside from the standard _what can I get you_.

“So…” Pete begins, glancing down at the invitation in his hands, “I guess I’ll see you guys at Ray’s.”

Pete glances at Mikey before he leaves, opening his mouth as though he wants to say something, but Mikey takes a lengthy drink from his soda, effectively cutting off the conversation, and he leaves.

Frank watches Pete leave Subway, and just as Ray is sitting back down, he looks over to Mikey and says, “Dude.”

Mikey returns Frank’s look with a face that seems like he’s trying to feign ignorance. “What?”

“That was brutal,” Gerard contributes. “Jesus, Mikey.”

“What happened?” Ray asks. “Did you just ignore him again?”

Mikey sighs. “Oh, so everyone has an opinion now? Great.”

“Look, I wouldn’t say anything before but,” Frank looks out the window at Pete putting his hood up against the slightly drizzly day and beginning his walk back to Party City, “it’s starting to get mean and sad. You have to talk to him, you know, be honest.”

Mikey, who’d been covering his face with his hands, removes his own blockade and says, “ _I_ need to talk to _him_? Okay, Frank. Give me advice on being honest, I’d _love_ to hear that.”

For half a second, Frank has the wild, terrifying thought that Mikey has somehow learned how to read his mind, that he knows Frank is in love with Gerard, that he knows Frank is afraid to say it or to try and ask Gerard how _he_ feels because he’s fucking sick at the thought of losing what they have right now in an attempt to get something more.

Frank blinks. “What?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He reaches over and grabs Ray’s wrist to check the time. “We have to go, anyway.”

Frank pauses, staying seated in the booth, watching Ray and Mikey get up and start to leave. Gerard, next to him, looks similarly tense.

“Do you –” Frank begins, and Gerard shakes his head.

“I don’t know.”

They start to leave, their delay putting them behind Ray and Mikey. “I don’t think Pete would say anything,” Frank says, waiting for Gerard to put his jacket back on before they start to walk out. “I don’t think he _has_.”

“Me too,” Gerard replies, and then he takes a deep, slightly shuddery breath, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Look, Frankie, I…”

 _This is it_ , Frank thinks. _I’m about to get dumped by someone I’m not even dating in the lobby of a Subway_.

Gerard hesitates. “I don’t want you to think – Jesus. You’re important to me. I don’t want you to think that you’re not.”

Frank feels like his insides are lurching with uncertainty. His brain is fucking full of shit he could say, shit he might want to say, shit like _who are we to each other/why won’t you tell me/what are you afraid of_ , but he doesn’t say any of these thoughts.

“I know,” he says instead, pushing open the door. He doesn’t trust himself to say much more. “You’re important to me, too.”

They’re done with their shift, getting their jackets on and heading out of the store, and Mikey says, “I’m getting a ride with Ray.”

Gerard blinks. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because we live in the same house?”

Mikey sort of blows out a breath in a big huff. “Maybe I want to hang out with someone who’s not you.”

Gerard considers that. “Fair.”

Mikey tugs on a bit of Gerard’s hair that’s curling around his collar and says, “I’ll see you later,” before heading towards Ray’s car.

Gerard doesn’t leave right away; he leans against the side of his car and smokes for about half an hour until he sees Frank, who’d drawn the short straw today and had been stuck doing extra closing tasks, coming out of Staples.

“Hey,” Frank says as he approaches, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket and his shoulders and collar up in a way that makes it look like he’s trying to burrow into his clothes. “I thought you would’ve left by now.”

Gerard hands the cigarette to Frank as he comes to stand next to him. “Mikey’s hanging out with Ray tonight.”

“Ah.” Frank takes a drag and then says, in a teasing, sing-song voice, “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard replies. He looks up at the sky, tilting his head back, trying to get a clear glimpse of the stars. “Let’s go somewhere.”

When he stops his futile search for the twinkling lights in the sky, Gerard looks back at Frank, who’s holding the cigarette loosely near his mouth, his eyes following Gerard’s motion with an expression that’s somehow both focused and distracted.

“You want to go somewhere?” Frank sounds surprised. “Okay.”

They don’t really go anywhere interesting; there aren’t a lot of places that Gerard thinks he’d want to go right now that are still _open_ , so they drive around for a little bit and end up in a local park, sitting in Gerard’s car with the windows cracked and the radio on.

They’re quiet, the silence companionable and broken only by muffled music coming out of the speakers. Frank breaks the lull eventually, saying, “So… I have something for you.”

Gerard looks over at him. “What? You do?”

“Yeah,” Frank replies, digging around in his bag. He looks up at Gerard briefly and says, “I told you I got something for you for Christmas, I just – you know, I didn’t get a chance to give it to you.”

Gerard watches as Frank flips on the light above him, frowning a little as he rifles through his stuff. The space between his eyebrows has gone all scrunchy with, Gerard is assuming, frustration at not finding what he’s looking for right away, and he’s sticking his tongue out a little bit, just barely touching it to his lip ring.

Gerard wants to kiss Frank so badly he feels stupid with it, but it isn't like it’s only a physical reaction at this point. He wonders if it ever was. He thinks he’s a magnet and since they met he’s been becoming more aware that Frank is True North. He doesn’t know how easily he can point anywhere else anymore.

This thought scares him so much that he almost jumps when Frank says, “Fuck. Finally,” and pulls out what looks like a cassette tape from his bag. His cheeks, his nose, the tips of his ears go pink when he hands it to Gerard, adding, “This is for you.”

Gerard is vaguely aware that his hand is a little unsteady as he reaches out and takes the cassette from Frank, and he hears himself saying, “Thank you, Frankie,” and Frank shrugs, looking supremely embarrassed.

He flips the clear plastic case over to the side where the tracks are written out in Frank’s spikey handwriting. Gerard’s head is fuzzy, he can barely read and register any of the words, but one song in particular jumps out at him, and he laughs. “Dude, really?”

Frank rolls his eyes and sort of flops back against the passenger seat. “Don’t… look at me like that, I have a good reason.”

“Fuck, I’d _love_ to hear it,” Gerard replies. “I didn’t think you were a secret Backstreet Boys fan, that’s all.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Frank says, sighing. “Jesus. Okay, look, it’s stupid, I know, but fucking – god. Fucking _I Want It That Way_ was playing when we kissed in Party City Pete’s bathroom that first time and. You know.”

Gerard doesn’t answer for a moment. He looks at Frank, at his jerky, nervous breaths and at the dark spot on the side of his neck that’s starting to fade. Gerard’s chest feels fucking full, tight, the weight of his feelings about Frank cramming against his insides and he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth he’s going to say something idiotic, something that Frank doesn’t feel the same about.

“I know,” Gerard says eventually, and something in his voice must sound off, because Frank turns to look at him. Frank looks like he wants to say something, to ask something, and Gerard is an imbecile who doesn’t know how to have a conversation at this moment, he doesn’t know how to speak to Frank without spilling out everything he feels.

Gerard doesn’t know what to do, so he kisses Frank, stopping the conversation before it starts, because for as fucking aware that he is about how he feels about Frank, he can’t say it. Not right now.

It’s Wednesday night. They’re in bed together, warm and clean and wrapped up in each other, the rosiness of the afterglow from earlier still radiating out of Frank’s skin with every heartbeat, and he hates that he’s starting to get the little thoughts of _say something!_ flickering around the edges of his mind.

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to because he knows _Gerard_ doesn’t want to talk about it, because he’s scared of what might come of the conversation, because he doesn’t want to wreck what they have going on right now.

It’s starting to get to the point that Frank doesn’t think he can _not_ talk about it, though.

He sits up. Gerard watches him, then props himself up on his elbows. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Frank replies, swirling a little pattern onto his own blanket-covered knee. “Do you – fuck.”

“Do I fuck?” Gerard asks, a little grin starting to show up on his face. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and continues, “I mean…”

“No, shut up,” Frank says, and he only laughs a little bit. Gerard frowns. “Just – listen, okay?”

“Okay,” Gerard says slowly, carefully. He’s gone very still.

“So,” Frank begins. “This has been happening for a while.” He pauses, as though to give Gerard a chance to speak, but Gerard is quiet. “Should we talk about it?”

Frank hadn’t been looking at Gerard when he was speaking, but he turns to him now. Gerard hasn’t really moved, Frank thinks he’s barely breathing.

Finally, Gerard says, “Talk about what?” and Frank just stares at him.

“The – Gerard, _this_ ,” Frank gestures wildly between them, and Gerard watches the motion of his hands. “Look, I like spending time with you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know that, I like spending time with you too,” Gerard replies. He’s not elaborating, and he’s looking at Frank with wide eyes, some sort of carefully hidden emotion in them that Frank can’t figure out. It’s fucking _infuriating_ to Frank, suddenly, and he’s not expecting the hot flare of frustration and anger bursting in his chest, but it’s there.

“Okay…” Frank draws out the end of the word, leaving an opening for Gerard. “Jesus, what is going _on_?”

Gerard sighs and tugs at his hair, something that Frank is starting to recognize as a motion he reverts to when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and scoots himself out of the bed. He starts to pace and Frank watches him, not completely fucking patiently.

“Do we _have_ to talk about it?” Gerard asks. He looks fucking bothered.

“Do we – _yes_ , we have to talk about it!” Frank gets up too, because he doesn’t like sitting down if he’s going to yell at someone, and he doesn’t _want_ to yell at Gerard, but he’s starting to feel like he might have to. “Look, Gerard, I don’t think – fuck. I just have to know if you want us to only fuck each _other_ and if we’re calling it anything.”

Frank hadn’t thought much of the words that came out of his mouth, but something in his phrasing must resonate differently with Gerard, because he looks taken aback.

“Do _you_ want…” Gerard begins, then stops himself, his mouth still slightly open, watching Frank carefully for a moment. Frank waits. “Frank, if you wanna fuck somebody else, then –”

“Oh my _god_!” Frank is vaguely aware that this comes out as a yell, and he doesn’t actually know if anyone’s upstairs, but he doesn’t care. “Fucking _what_?”

“Then it’s okay!” Gerard continues, matching Frank’s volume, looking bewildered but also like he’s trying to keep his shit together. “You can – I want you to be happy, okay?”

“Jesus fucking Christ. That’s not what you’re fucking supposed to say!”

Gerard lets out a rushed exhale and throws his hands in the air. “Then what the fuck _am_ I supposed to say?”

“You’re supposed to _fucking_ tell me how you feel about me!” Frank is fully shouting at Gerard now, and he’s surprised in some hidden corner of his mind, the main focus right now is a roiling mess of emotions that’s somehow both hazy and sharp. “I’m so _tired_ of dancing around it! I need you to tell me, it’s not enough anymore, I’m so tired of this.”

“ _What’s_ not enough?” Gerard replies, his voice and expression somewhere between stricken and angry. His voice breaks a little when he says, “Am I not – fuck, I don’t know what to _do_ , what isn't enough, Frank?”

Frank feels like he can’t shut up, like he’s been tiptoeing around this for weeks and now that he’s not it’s bursting out of him and he wishes he could say it in a different way but he’s fucking _frustrated_ about it and he wants Gerard to know. “It’s not – Gerard, it’s not enough to not talk about _this,_ to not call it anything anymore! I see you all the time, we talk on the phone when we’re not literally sleeping together, I keep a toothbrush at your place, we’re well past just fucking!”

“I _know_ ,” Gerard says, quieter again, and he looks scared. “I _know_ that, I just – why does it matter so much?”

“Because,” Frank begins heatedly, and the words won’t stop, so he doesn’t even try, “because I want to tell you how I feel about you, I want other people to know, I wanna hold your hand and I wanna kiss you somewhere not sneaky and I wanna go on a date with you! Jesus, I’d fucking love to go on a date with you! But I _can’t_ because you’re scared of something and you won’t tell me what, so I can’t do anything about it, and that fucking _sucks_ , because I’m fucking in love with you and I want –”

Frank manages to stop the words.

Gerard, who had been listening, looks like he isn't breathing for a minute, and then he says, “You’re what?”

“Shit,” Frank practically gasps, and he fucking leaves.

There’s been some weirdness going on, especially over the past couple of days. Ray doesn’t know what it is exactly, but he can tell. Shit isn't right.

It’s Friday, and they have the New Year’s party tonight. They’re closing early, so they’ll be out by six and they aren’t taking a lunch. He’d thought that this would be a shift that everyone would basically sit around for, but Brian handed Ray a list of shit that needed to be organized in the back and told him to pick someone to take back with him.

Ordinarily, Ray would’ve picked Mikey, but Frank had been sitting at PMS looking completely fucking miserable, so Ray had resolved to try and make him feel a little bit better.

They’re in the back now, taking stuff out of boxes and separating them into piles to go up on the big shelves, and Ray watches Frank meticulously stack packages of printer paper in very neat piles, despite how they’ll be picking up the stacks and moving them in a few minutes.

It’s been painfully quiet.

“Are you okay?” Ray asks, and Frank shrugs. Ray doesn’t know what to do, so he starts talking. He doesn’t even remember half the shit he says, just that he’s trying to fill the silence a bit and give Frank something to think about that isn't whatever’s going on in his head.

He’s getting to a story about how Mikey was hanging out with him on Wednesday night and how Ray’s trying to convince him to cut Party City Pete loose, for everyone’s sake, when Frank looks up suddenly.

“Oh,” he says, his voice coming out a bit hoarsely from lack of use. “He wasn’t home?”

Ray blinks. “No, he stayed over at my place. I think he thinks something’s going on with Gerard, but he doesn’t know what it is.”

Frank opens his mouth, closes it, looks off to the side, and rushes out, like he’s been holding back from saying it for far too long, “Me. I’m what’s going on with Gerard.”

“Wait,” Ray says after a moment. “You’re what?”

Frank is still speaking extremely quickly. “Gerard and I have been hooking up. He came over after that movie night at your place and we’ve been. Seeing each other. All the time since then. We had a big fight on Wednesday and I was worried that Mikey was at home because I was there and I was yelling and I just – fuck. Don’t tell him.”

Ray becomes aware that his mouth is open, so he tries to formulate his shock into words. “Oh,” he says, very cleverly and comfortingly. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Frank replies. He hasn’t really looked directly at Ray much today, but now that he is, Ray can see that his eyes are red, like he’s been crying. Ray had thought he’d seen it earlier, but he’d thought Frank had just been high. “I said something stupid and I left.”

Very carefully, Ray asks, “Do you – do you want to talk about it?”

Frank looks at Ray like he just offered him a million dollars and ten dogs and launches into an extremely long and far-too-detailed description of every bit of backstory that’s happened with Gerard so far.

“And then I fucking told him I was in love with him!” Frank exclaims, and then drops his face into his hands. Voice slightly muffled, he says, “I’m a fucking idiot, and _obviously_ he doesn’t feel the same, so I – I shouldn’t have said it, and to save myself from fucking embarrassing myself _worse_ I got my shit and I left.”

Ray thinks for a minute, clears his throat, and says, “What makes you think he doesn’t feel the same?”

Frank removes his hands from his face and gives Ray a look, one like he thinks Ray clearly hasn’t been listening for the entire conversation. “He didn’t want – he didn’t want to call it anything with me.”

Frank doesn’t say _he didn’t want me,_ but Ray can read that assessment all over his face.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Ray says after another beat, and Frank looks at him sharply. “Look, I’ve known Gerard for longer than you have, and just. He never makes it easy for himself. And that’s not fair to you, or to himself, or to anyone else, but it’s something he does and that he needs to work on. He gets involved in his own head.”

Frank sighs. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

Ray shakes his head. “It’s not up to you to get him out of his own head. He has to get himself out.”

It might not be up to Frank to get Gerard out of his own head, but Ray can sure get Gerard’s head out of his own ass.

Ray walks up to Gerard in the parking lot after they’ve both finished their closing shit and they’re waiting for Frank and Mikey to be done and smacks him on the side of the head.

“Ow!” Gerard shrinks away from Ray’s hand and brings his own to the side of his head, rubbing at the impact spot with a grimace. “What was that for?”

“You idiot,” Ray says, shaking his head. “Get your shit together.”

Gerard looks completely fucking bewildered, and also like he hasn’t slept in a couple of days. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

“ _Frank_ ,” Ray replies. “God, no wonder he thought you didn’t care about him.”

“He _what_?” Gerard asks. His hand drops from his head. “Why would he think that?”

“I don’t know, Gerard,” Ray says flatly, his arms crossed. “Think about it.”

Ray does not pull out the wealth of information that Frank just dumped into his lap as weaponry – he’s more respectful than that – but he can tell that Gerard knows that he knows. For a second, it looks like Gerard is going to argue or try to feign ignorance or pull some bullshit, but then he sort of deflates and sighs, looking up at the sky.

“Did he tell you everything?” Gerard asks, still not looking at Ray.

“He told me enough to give me a handle on the situation.” Ray leans against his car, parked next to Gerard’s, and looks at his friend across the small space between the parking spots. “I know you’re not always good at shit like this, but he really cares about you.”

Gerard sighs again. “I know he does.”

“I’m not gonna tell you how to feel,” Ray continues, “but I just think that if you care about him in the same way, you should tell him.”

The doors to Staples open and Mikey walks out, Frank a couple of steps behind him. Ray moves over to the driver’s side of his car and calls to his friends, “I’ll see you later, okay?” Frank raises his hand in acknowledgment and gets into his own car.

Gerard looks over at Ray again, after poorly disguising his following of Frank’s movement with a quick focus on his brother.

“It’s a new year tonight,” Ray says. “Lots of time to change things up.”

“Thanks, Ray,” Gerard says, smiling a little, and Ray grins back at him and gets in the car.

Ray had said to dress nice, because they’re supposed to be acting like _grown-ups_ tonight, or whatever that means, so this just leads to Gerard spending far too long agonizing over his outfit until yelling for Mikey to come and tell him what to do.

“I don’t know what he means by _nice_ ,” Gerard complains while Mikey digs through his closet. “I don’t want to overdress, you know? Or underdress.”

“Jesus,” Mikey says under his breath, throwing articles of clothing behind himself like they’re trash. “Gee, nice for you is _clean_. You could probably comb your hair and tuck in your shirt and Ray would think you were attending a red carpet event.”

“Well, I was gonna wash it,” Gerard says, and Mikey stops in his mad search through Gerard’s clothes to stare at his brother. “What?”

“Who are you trying to impress?” Mikey asks, and Gerard’s eyes widen almost comically.

“The… Y2K bug,” Gerard says, like an idiot, and Mikey scoffs and turns back to the closet.

Gerard goes to shower and when he comes back, Mikey’s put some stuff on the couch for him to change into. He’s gone, presumably upstairs to do his own shit, so Gerard puts himself together. He ends up in a pair of jeans that are just shy of too tight but that make his ass look great, a dark green knit sweater that Gerard has no recollection of owning, and the leather jacket that he wears too much. He fucks with his hair a bit in the mirror until Mikey comes downstairs, and Gerard blinks at his brother’s outfit before saying, “You put me in _this_ when you’re going in _that_?”

Mikey, hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, sticks out a leg and looks down at it, taking in the stripes on his pants and the black boots on his feet. “What were we gonna do, show up looking exactly the same? You can’t pull these pants off.”

“Neither can _you_ , they’re tight as hell! Did you have to lie down to put those on?”

“None of your business,” Mikey replies in a snooty voice, which Gerard takes to mean as a yes.

They get in the car and drive to Ray’s. It’s late already and traffic sucks. Gerard has no idea what’s going to happen at the party, if anything, and he doesn’t know what to do about what Ray had told him earlier.

He’s been trying to process everything that happened for days now. The irrefutable facts are these: Frank wants more than just fucking (or, at least, he did), Frank is in love with Gerard (or, at least, he was), Gerard is afraid of telling Frank he feels the same (nothing has changed).

Gerard can’t get the look on Frank’s face when he’d accidentally said _because I’m fucking in love with you_ out of his head. Gerard hasn’t been able to think about anything else other than how Frank had just so clearly fucking _meant_ it, he’d been honest and fucking vulnerable and then as soon as he’d realized he’d said it he’d left. Why had he left? Gerard hadn’t wanted him to go.

He thinks, after the fact, that he hadn’t made that clear enough.

Gerard drives on autopilot and they end up at Ray’s apartment before he’s even fully aware that they’ve started. He feels hazy and distracted as he and Mikey head up the stairs, opening the door and slipping inside. It’s a fairly closely-knit group of people, Gerard knows or at least recognizes everyone here, and Ray has music playing from his sound system in the living room. Ray notices them as they come in, grinning and waving at them, in a red button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, a pair of glasses shaped like the number _2000_ nestled in his curls like a headband.

“Hey!” he calls, making his way over to Gerard and Mikey. “You made it! Wow, you look great.” Ray hugs both of them, and as he pulls back from Gerard, he says, “You washed your hair!”

“Why is everyone always so surprised?” Gerard looks around the room, scanning it briefly in an attempt to catch sight of Frank. “Good turnout.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Ray replies, beaming. “Do you guys want drinks?”

They go to the kitchen and Ray insists on being a good host and getting the drinks for them, and Gerard can’t pay attention to anything. He leans against the counter and only half listens to Ray saying shit that evidently makes Mikey laugh, his leg bouncing a little bit, taking little sips and looking around the apartment even though he’s already scanned all the faces here a thousand times by now.

“Is Frank here?” Mikey asks, and Gerard tries not to look like he’s paying too much attention.

“Oh, yeah,” Gerard adds onto Mikey’s question, schooling his features into an expression of polite interest. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Not yet,” Ray says, getting up on his tiptoes to get a better look at the room. “He said he was – oh, wait.”

Gerard looks in the direction that Ray’s attention is pointed and sees Frank walking in, and he looks so fucking good, all the marks that Gerard’s given him on his neck covered up by a fucking turtleneck, that Gerard tears the label on his beer bottle with the nail of his thumb so he doesn’t do something stupid. He remembers how he’d felt before, suddenly, about the magnets and how when he’s around Frank he can’t point anywhere else but at him, and then Frank’s eyes travel across the room and meet Gerard’s for the first time in two days, and Gerard thinks he’s going to pass out.

Frank puts on a smile for Ray and starts to head over, but he’s almost immediately bumped into by Party City Pete, who starts a conversation, and Gerard has never understood his brother’s negative emotions regarding PCP than he does right now, which is perhaps unfair and circumstantial, but fuck.

“Fuck,” Gerard says under his breath, in unison with Mikey, but his is quiet enough that he goes unnoticed.

“Come on,” Mikey says, grabbing Gerard’s wrist and Ray’s sleeve and starting to tug them over to Frank and Pete. “Let’s get him out of there.”

“Do we _all_ have to go?” Ray asks, sounding worried. “If you’re going to do what I _think_ you are, then I don’t think Gerard and I should be there.”

“It’s fine,” Mikey says tersely, then inserts the three of them into the conversation between Frank and Pete. “This will only take a minute. Hi.”

“Hi,” Pete says, glancing at Frank quickly before looking back to Mikey. Frank nods at him in what seems to be an encouraging way, and Pete continues, “Mikey, I was wondering if I could talk to you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mikey replies, looking slightly bewildered at Pete’s statement. “I was actually wanting to talk to you too, so. Shoot.”

“Oh. Here?” Pete looks around at everyone. “I mean. Okay, if you want.”

“Is he going to propose?” Gerard says under his breath, to no one in particular, but Frank is next to him, and he elbows Gerard to shut him up, and for a second it feels normal. Then Frank edges out of Gerard’s space and his chest feels hollowed out.

“Look, Mikey, I’m not an idiot,” Pete begins, looking supremely nervous and sad about what he has to say. “I know you don’t feel the same way about me as I do about you, and that’s okay, and I just wanted you to know that – just, I hope you don’t feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Oh,” Mikey says after a moment. “Thank you.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“Did we have to be here for this?” Ray asks, his expression one of extreme discomfort. “I’m so sorry, Pete.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Pete says, and he smiles again, which sort of breaks the tension. “Honestly, I was feeling kind of weird about this whole thing, especially since the other week when I saw –” he cuts himself off.

“What?” Mikey asks interestedly. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Pete says quickly, but he fucking looks at Gerard before he says, “Sometimes you just. You see something that makes it. Weird. To be around certain people in a certain context afterwards. At least, for a while. Oh, there’s Cortez. I have to go.”

He leaves.

“Well, that was weird!” Gerard says, too loudly, too fucking robotically, and he wants to kick himself. “I wonder what he was talking about!”

Mikey narrows his eyes at his brother. “I _know_ you’re not telling me something, you idiot.” Before Gerard can do much more than open his mouth to respond to his brother’s accusation, Mikey leaves too, followed by Ray, who looks at Gerard meaningfully before departing.

The apartment has a fair amount of people in it, and it’s loud enough that Gerard has to raise his voice a little to be heard, but he can swear he hears his own heartbeat fucking speeding in his chest.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he hears himself say, and Frank looks at him again, and fuck, Gerard hadn’t realized how much he’d _missed_ Frank, just talking to him, just being around him, until Frank nods.

They go outside, like they had at Ray’s movie night, Gerard holding his pack of smokes in one hand and bouncing it between the fingers and thumb of his other hand like it’ll make him stop shaking. He thinks he’s more nervous now than he’s ever been around Frank, and he wishes he could get a fucking grip.

They lean against the wall. Gerard lights Frank’s cigarette for him, like he normally does, and he’s quiet for a moment.

Frank breaks the silence. “Did we just come out here to smoke?”

“No,” Gerard says, so quietly he can barely hear himself, but he knows that Frank can. He says, after a minute, “I missed you.”

“We didn’t see each other for a day. That’s not a long time, Gerard.”

“I know, but,” Gerard frowns and kicks at the ground, causing a little pebble to bounce along the sidewalk, “I missed – fuck, I missed having you around. I’m not doing a good job with this.”

“No, you’re not,” Frank says, and Gerard does not look at him, because he can hear a note of that tenderness coming back into Frank’s voice, and if he looks at him he’s going to lose all his fucking nerve. “Keep going.”

Gerard takes a breath and says, before he thinks about it too much, “I want the same things you do. I don’t want it to be just sex. I care about you a lot and I’m not good at saying it, but I _do_ , and I don’t want you to go.”

Frank is quiet, and then he says, “Gerard,” and Gerard turns to look at him.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful in his life, and he wants to tell Frank he loves him, but he can’t get the words to come out of his mouth.

He tries anyway. “Frank, I –”

“It’s okay,” Frank interrupts. “I know how you feel.”

Frank kisses him, and Gerard feels like he could float away if Frank’s hands holding onto the front of his jacket weren’t keeping him tethered to the ground. There’s some shouting, and for a wild half second Gerard thinks they’ve been caught, but no, it’s just midnight.

They pull apart, and Gerard doesn’t want to, he wants to kiss Frank again and again and again until he forgets how to do anything else. “You know,” Frank says, effectively inhibiting Gerard from doing just that, “if you were asking me out, that was horribly structured. You weren’t very clear about it at all.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Gerard laughs, and the way Frank is looking at him makes his pulse hum, despite how stupid he feels when he continues, in a somewhat flat tone to get the words out, “Frank, you’re the light of my life, would you like to be my boyfriend and go on dates with me? We can kiss in public if you want to.”

“You know what, I’m gonna say yes, to give you some confidence, because that was awful, but I know it was hard for you,” Frank replies, and he kisses Gerard again, briefly. “Let’s go back inside.”

They head back inside to the commotion of champagne and noise and people kissing. Gerard thinks he sees Mikey kiss Ray, but he blinks and there’s nothing happening, other than Mikey finishing a flute of champagne and Ray pink-faced and tousle-haired, so he chalks it up to the disorientation of a party.

He doesn’t fully care about how the rest of the night goes. They stay for a couple more hours and then Gerard and Frank leave, Mikey staying to help Ray with the stragglers and the cleanup process, and the next thing Gerard is aware of is kissing Frank against the side of Frank’s car.

Frank whispers a promise to come over and that he’ll be right behind Gerard on the drive home before pressing another kiss to Gerard’s cheek and getting in his car, and Gerard starts his own process of leaving Ray’s apartment. As he looks in the rearview mirror and sees Frank waving at him in the reflection, Gerard realizes he is, for the first time in a long time, genuinely optimistic about the start of a new year.


	10. week nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's staples day!!!!!
> 
> thank you guys for being so patient and supportive this week. it's a little later and a little shorter than it's been in the past, but i think the content itself is good :) i love you guys a lot <3
> 
> as always, special thank yous to my friends who let me talk about this all the time, ESPECIALLY to my absolute killer of a beta, projektgerard, who had the idea for one of the biggest parts of this chapter particularly and to whom i owe my life. big big big thank you to alexcactuss as well for providing a crucial bit of NJ knowledge for this one and for helping me work out logistics!!
> 
> i love you guys a lot. please come say hi to me!!! (also please know that i do read and genuinely appreciate every single comment left on this it's just gotten overwhelming to respond to them but i respond a lot on twitter <3 thank you so so so much for the support it means the world to me <3)
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

Frank is coming to realize that sneaking around is a thousand times more fucking satisfying when you know what to call it. He’s in a _disgustingly_ good mood all the time, to the point where his friends are sick of him and his mom has asked if there’s something wrong with him several times.

Mikey’s been looking at him suspiciously for weeks now, but apparently, he’s irritated by how good Frank is becoming at keeping secrets, because he’s started interrogating Frank every time they work together.

“Where were you last night?” Mikey asks on Wednesday afternoon, arms crossed, slouching his long frame in a lean against the PMS counter so much that he looks approximately six inches shorter than he really is.

“Nowhere,” Frank replies, as has become fucking standard for him, shrugging as he does. “At home? I dunno, Mikey, I had homework.”

“You’re a liar,” Mikey says, narrowing his eyes. “I called your house and your mom said you were,” Mikey pauses here to drag exaggerated air quotes through the space by his face, “ _out with friends_ , so my question is, if I wasn’t invited, who were you with?”

Frank, in lieu of answering Mikey’s question, poses another one at his friend. “Aw, Mikey, are you jealous?”

“Yes,” Mikey replies flatly. “I want to be invited places. I’m not used to this.”

Frank is under the impression that Mikey’s been feeling the slump of not getting as much attention as he had before Ray’s New Year’s party, wherein Party City Pete had cut romantic ties. It isn't like Mikey’s particularly crushed about that or anything, as he’d been planning on doing the same thing, but Frank can tell that part of Mikey’s personality is wanting to be wanted and enjoying when that’s the case, so the absence of one more person demanding his attention is taking a little bit of a toll on him.

“You’re _invited_ places,” Frank protests. “Weren’t you with Ray yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, “but that’s different.”

“What, Ray isn't your friend, too?”

Mikey raises his eyebrows. “Well, if you’re not going to tell me the details of your life, I’m not going to tell you mine.”

Frank opens his mouth in an exaggerated expression of surprise. “So I _didn’t_ imagine you guys kissing at New Year’s.”

Mikey stares at Frank impassively and doesn’t provide any more detail, but that’s all the information Frank needs.

“I think Mikey and Ray are fucking,” Frank says to Gerard the next day. They’re getting coffee, fucking far away from Staples, and Frank’s been trying to not think too much about how this is the first time they’ve gone somewhere out of the way and during daylight hours and _alone_. Gerard’s fucking nocturnal and Frank is busy all the time, but he got out of school early because of some _professional development_ for the teachers, and he and Gerard don’t work today, so they’re sitting in a coffee shop while Frank does homework and Gerard sketches.

Gerard chokes on his coffee. Post-liquid inhalation, he asks, “They’re _what_?”

“Yeah,” Frank says casually, trying not to laugh at Gerard coughing. “Mikey wouldn’t admit it, but he implied that hanging out with Ray is different from hanging out with _me_ , as a friend, and he didn’t deny that they kissed on New Year’s.”

“Jesus,” Gerard replies after a beat. “What the fuck is in the water at Staples?”

Frank is about to answer when they’re interrupted by Gerard’s phone ringing. It makes Frank jump, because Gerard’s phone never rings, but he answers it immediately, in what Frank thinks is the most professional voice he’s ever heard from his boyfriend, “This is Gerard Way.”

There’s a pause. Frank gives Gerard an exaggerated, giant smile and two thumbs up from across their little table and Gerard is visibly trying not to grin back. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, I did.”

Frank waits. Gerard frowns for a moment, then his eyes widen a bit. “Oh! Y – absolutely, let me grab a pen.” Gerard looks around wildly for a second, seeming to fucking forget that he has a shitload of paper in front of him and a million pencils, but Frank wouldn’t be surprised if Gerard’s brain has completely removed any of his art supplies as viable options for writing something down because that’s not what they’re _for_.

Frank hands Gerard a pen and his science notebook, flipping it to a blank page, and Gerard mouths _thank you_ , before saying, “Okay, so, you said Monday at ten?”

Gerard writes some stuff down and exchanges niceties with the person on the other end of the phone and Frank is fucking bouncing in his seat by the time Gerard hangs up.

“Uh,” Gerard says, looking down at the paper.

“Who was that?” Frank asks. He can’t stop smiling, he’s so fucking excited for Gerard. “Who called you back?”

“Um,” Gerard says, and he sounds shocked by it. “That was Cartoon fucking Network.”

“No fucking way.”

“They want fucking interview me on Monday!”

“Fuck yeah!” That comes out a lot louder than Frank had been intending, and he knows they’re swearing a lot, but he can’t help it, he’s so fucking pumped. There are some dirty looks thrown his way, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. “I’m so fucking proud of you!”

Gerard looks around, like he doesn’t know what to do. “I have to call Mikey,” he says, almost like an afterthought. Then he says, more directly to Frank, “Do you want to go out tonight? I’m fucking pumped, I don’t want to stay at home.”

Frank laughs a little as he replies, “I have a gig tonight, remember? You said you would come.”

“Oh, yeah,” Gerard says. “You’re right, shit, I forgot. Do you want to do something tomorrow instead?”

Gerard’s eyes are bright and his cheeks have gone all rosy and Frank is trying so hard to not kiss him, he’s deterred only by the knowledge that the people in this coffee shop already hate him enough for his profanity. “Yeah,” Frank says, “Let’s do it.”

Ray and Mikey are also coming to Frank’s gig tonight, which means several things. Most importantly, it means he can’t kiss Gerard as recklessly as he’d like to, but this is something that Frank is used to. It also means that Mikey’s fucking eagle eyes are going to be looking too closely at everything, but Frank is starting to feel resigned to the fact that they’re going to get found out eventually.

He doesn’t really think it would be that bad. Honestly, Frank thinks that the worst that could happen is that Mikey is mad at them for a little bit, but Frank thinks that their window of time before Mikey inevitably is told by someone who already knows or finds out on his own is rapidly shrinking. Fuck, Party City Pete already let something slip last week, Frank wouldn’t be surprised if Mikey’s already started putting the clues together.

Frank thinks back to when Mikey had tried to talk to him about Gerard, back just after they’d kissed for the first time and Frank hadn’t known what to do about anything and had felt more unsure in himself and his feelings than he’d felt in a long time. _I don’t want to see either of you get hurt_ , Mikey had said.

They’re not going to get hurt. Frank has decided that. A small part of him thinks that this is naïve, he doesn’t possibly have a way to know that he and Gerard will make it through this without anyone being hurt, but he knows himself and he knows that he’ll do fucking anything he can to make it happen.

His gig goes well, but timing and situational shit and the fact that Frank has a chemistry test in the morning leads to him going home alone, despite the heat coiling in his stomach at the way Gerard always looks at him after he comes off the stage. There’s no time or feasible way for them to sneak off for even a minute; they’re surrounded by people who don’t know but to Frank everyone else is a blur, a faint buzzing in his periphery.

He calls Gerard when he gets home, lying on his couch and staring at the ceiling. “Hey,” he says, and he puts just the right amount of gravity in his voice, and he knows Gerard can tell.

“Hi,” Gerard replies. “What are you doing?”

Frank feels stupid and antsy and dry-mouthed when he says, “Thinking about you.”

He feels like that all the time around Gerard. They talk and they _talk_ on the phone and Frank feels, after shit’s been said and done and Gerard’s voice tells him pretty things that Frank almost doesn’t know what to do with, that he’s never felt so much so fast for someone before. They haven’t brought up their feelings for each other in a specific way since they’d argued, but it’s not because Gerard’s avoiding it this time; Frank knows that he’d let something slip that he hadn’t meant to yet during the conversation and that Gerard is trying to not bring it up unless Frank is ready to talk about it again.

“I wish you were here,” Gerard says, voice soft, and Frank wants to curl into his side like he’s gotten too used to being able to do all the time. “Or that I was there. You know.”

“I know,” Frank replies, and he can hear the wistfulness in his own words. He might be ready to talk about it again. “I don’t like sleeping without you.”

“I don’t, either.” There’s a pause, then there’s a faint sound, and Gerard says, “Oh, hey.”

Frank hears Mikey’s voice, muffled, too far away to understand what he’s saying, so he says to Gerard, “It’s okay, go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, and Frank vaguely registers that his voice hasn’t gone all closed off like it normally does when someone else is around. “Alright, baby, I’ll see you then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Frank replies after a beat, fucking nearly breathlessly, and as he and Gerard hang up, he hears Mikey practically shrieking, “ _Baby_? Who the fuck was _that_?” before the line cuts off.

It’s the next day, in Staples, and Frank is still full of the same stupid euphoria over everything, to the point where Mikey asked Brian if he could switch to a different department for the day just to not be around Frank.

“He’s driving me up the fucking _wall,_ Brian,” Mikey had said about half an hour into their shift, arms crossed tightly like if he loosened his grip on his own torso he’d fly into an uncontrollable rage. “He’s so happy. I don’t like it.”

Brian, standing on the other side of the PMS counter, had squinted at Frank suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Frank had insisted. “What, I can’t be in a good mood?”

“You’ve been in a good mood for _far_ too long,” Mikey had replied accusingly. “Can I _please_ go somewhere else?”

Brian had rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine. Switch with Ray for today,” and that’s how Ray had ended up sitting on the stool next to Frank behind the counter.

Frank loves and respects Ray with every fiber of his being, so he actually tries to not annoy him through their time together. It seems to work.

“Do you want to come to a screening this weekend?” Ray asks after one of their rare PMS customers leaves. “They’re… showing one of my films, I have some tickets.”

“What?” Frank asks, his mouth still hanging open after the word. “Holy _shit_ , Ray, how long have you known about this?”

Ray shrugs. “I dunno, a couple weeks?”

“And you didn’t _tell_ anyone?”

“I told Mikey! And Gerard, he was there, too.”

Frank stares at Ray incredulously. “Okay, scratch that, you didn’t tell _me_?”

“You’re fucking busy all the time!” Ray scratches his head, raking his fingers through his curls. “I never see you anymore.”

Frank doesn’t say anything for a minute. “I’m sorry,” he offers, and Ray shrugs again. “I wanna come to your screening, I’d really like that.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Ray says. His smile is back, quick and bright, and Frank feels better. “I mean. I know you’re busy because. You know.”

“Dude.” Frank’s face heats up. “We do _not_ have to talk about it. I already told you way too fucking much.”

“Okay,” Ray replies, grinning. “Just know, I’m glad it’s working out. I know Mikey’s annoyed by everything right now, even though he doesn’t know, but I for one think you guys are good together.”

Frank doesn’t have to ask Ray to not say anything. He knows that isn't a concern.

He goes out for a smoke break with Gerard. “Ray thinks we’re good together,” Frank says, trying not to sound smug, but he can’t help it.

“Does he?” Gerard asks. He takes a drag and then blows the smoke out, the cold air already making his breath frosty, the swirling cloud rising towards the evening sky. “He’s so nice.” Gerard pauses, then adds, “I think he’s right. I think we’re good together, too.”

“I know we are,” Frank replies. “Are we still going out tonight?”

They’re closing the store at seven tonight. Apparently, corporate is paying for a bunch of vent replacement or something, Frank wasn’t really paying attention when Brian had told them what’s being done, he’d just known that this had meant they’d be able to actually get the fuck out of the store a lot earlier than they’d been originally anticipating.

It’s been, other than the time Frank has gotten to spend with Gerard, a particularly stupid and challenging week. His school, for some reason, makes them take their midterms after the winter break, so he’d come back to a week of exams after not using his brain for half a month. On top of that, Brian had sprung employee evaluations on them, so they’d all had to sit through meetings with him and talk about their performances and sales and be reminded that the future of their employment at Staples is solely dependent on how well they continue to do in the next month and a bit.

Frank doesn’t care that much about Staples. He’s honest with himself about that. However, not caring about the job or the store itself doesn’t mean that he hasn’t enjoyed everything that’s come of working here and that he wouldn’t miss it if it was gone.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, “if you still want to? I had an idea, I thought we could do something fun.”

“Okay,” Frank replies, then looks behind himself at a knock on the door behind them. “What’s up?” he asks, directing his voice towards the crack of the open door.

“Brian wants you guys back in,” comes Mikey’s bored voice. “Only two hours left.”

“Back at it, I guess,” Gerard comments, grinding out his cigarette and heading inside.

“You know, not telling me where we’re going makes it seem like you’re taking me somewhere to kill me and dump my body.”

Gerard, driving, looks sidelong at Frank and makes a face at him. “Maybe I’m not telling you because I don’t want you to be an asshole about it.”

Frank opens his mouth in an expression of fake affront. “I can’t believe you’d say that. I’ve never been an asshole about anything in my _life_ , Gee.”

Gerard rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Well, we _were_ gonna go to Monster Mini Golf, but, I mean, if you don’t want to…” Gerard sort of trails off as he makes a left turn, and Frank watches his face as he drives.

Frank doesn’t say anything for a moment, not until Gerard turns to look at him. “What?”

“You’re so fucking cute,” Frank says, and Gerard looks away.

“Shut up,” he replies, his cheeks pink, but his mouth has a little curl to it that Frank wants to kiss. “It’s just mini golf.”

They go inside and Frank loves how fucking weird this place is, he loves that Gerard’s thought process in choosing somewhere for a date – this is a _date_ , he thinks, a bubble of stupid giddiness swelling in his chest – was to pick a fucking mini golf place themed after the most Halloween-y shit possible, he loves that they’re both going to be terrible at this but that he knows he won’t be able to stop smiling for the entire time.

Frank comes to the realization halfway through their first round that maybe they’re _not_ both going to be terrible at this. Gerard is surprisingly good, and he’s such a motherfucker about it, he’s all smiles and _oh, shit, Frankie, you’ll get it next time_ when Frank’s still trying to knock the stupid ball in the hole after his eighth attempt while Gerard’s been standing off to the side and waiting after two.

“Don’t say anything,” Frank warns preemptively when he gets defeated by yet another little carpeted hill on the seventeenth hole. “Don’t fucking say _anything_.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Gerard replies, but his words are all tangled up in a laugh. “You’re doing great!”

Frank flips him off, and is immediately chastised by a nearby woman, looking scandalized and middle-aged. “Excuse me, young man, there are _children_ around.”

“ _Where_?” Frank asks incredulously, looking around. The lady is there with kids who are probably around middle school-aged, so Frank would be extremely fucking surprised if they’d never seen anyone giving the finger. “ _What_ children?”

“Sorry,” Gerard offers, cutting Frank off before he can say anything worse. He doesn’t know what he’d say, he has several half-formed and rude replies floating around his head, but Gerard’s steamrollering has effectively stopped Frank’s misbehavior before it starts. The lady glares at them again, seemingly trying to pack as much disapproving venom into her gaze as she can, before turning back to whatever her dumbass kids are doing.

Frank makes a face at her back and Gerard tries to stifle a laugh. “I bet if we kissed it would piss her off even more,” he says, causing Gerard to roll his eyes.

“Probably,” Gerard replies. “Maybe we’ll have to see what happens when and if we ever finish this round.”

The words are empty, for the most part. Frank wants to kiss Gerard right now, he always does, he thinks it’s cute how serious Gerard’s expression goes when he’s concentrating, and as much as he hates Gerard talking shit about how bad Frank is at this stupid mini golf shit, it just makes Frank want to shut him up with his mouth. That being said, he’s pretty sure they’d be asked to leave if there was ever anything obvious between them, so he contents himself with behaving like a little shit.

“Stop it,” Gerard says softly, when they’re done with the actual mini golf part and have wandered over to the little arcade section to fuck around on games. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” Frank asks. He knows what he’s doing too, he’s pressed himself into Gerard’s space with his chin hooked over Gerard’s shoulder. Anyone walking by would think Frank is just trying to see the screen, but he’s started being annoying about slipping his fingers on one hand under the hem of Gerard’s hoodie. His movements are absentminded, just something to _touch_ , not with any intent, but he likes how sneaky it is. “I’m trying to see the screen.”

“You’re trying to make me break,” Gerard replies.

“Is it working?”

Gerard doesn’t answer, but he loses his game, and Frank grins.

Later, they’re in a photo booth on the side of the arcade. It’s small; Frank thinks it was made for people (read: children) much smaller than them, and while they can both get inside, Frank’s like, halfway in Gerard’s lap and the tight space is making them laugh and act stupid. They’ve taken a bunch of shitty strips of pictures, there hasn’t been anyone in line behind them as far as Frank can tell, so they’ve been monopolizing it by making stupid faces at the camera and sneaking kisses every so often.

“Okay, okay, let’s be serious,” Frank says, making an overly concentrated face and pressing the button for the pictures to start, and Gerard bursts into a laugh at his expression. Frank breaks, smiling at Gerard, and the camera flashes. “Can you just – you’re so –”

“I’m what?” Gerard has his mouth against Frank’s shoulder, looking up at him with an expression that makes Frank want to give him… something. Anything. Everything he can. Gerard kisses Frank’s shoulder, then bites it. The camera flashes.

“Fucking insufferable,” Frank replies, the textbook definition of the words completely lost through his laughing, and Gerard knows it. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Hey, insufferability isn't exclusive to me,” Gerard reasons, and Frank reaches over to turn his face towards the camera, Gerard’s chin in his hand, and they both smile as Frank lets go of Gerard’s face and the camera flashes again. One nice picture, success.

“Oh yeah?” Frank asks. “Do you know why you put up with me, then?”

“Yeah, of course, I do,” Gerard says, eyes on Frank again, and Frank, who had been watching the timer tick down on the camera, turns to look at him. “I love you.”

Frank feels like everything’s fucking stopped, from his breathing to his heart to the rotation of the earth, and it’s only when his mouth is slightly open and the camera goes off again that he realizes that time didn’t do him the courtesy of freezing so he could have a minute to process what Gerard had said.

“Oh,” Frank says, but it’s an exhale more than anything else. “You – Gee, you already know I – I told you, you know I love _you_ , right?” Frank doesn’t say _you didn’t forget?_ but he doesn’t have to.

Gerard looks at him with an expression that says _I wouldn’t be able to_ , and Frank’s chest feels so fucking full at the way Gerard is looking at him that he thinks he could burst. Gerard only manages to say, “Yeah, I know,” before Frank kisses him.

Gerard hits the camera button, fucking expertly, given that Frank’s now fully in his lap with his hands in Gerard’s hair, and starts another strip of photos.

Frank always wakes up before Gerard.

He wonders if this is something to do with their circadian rhythms, because every time he’s fallen asleep and woken up with Gerard, he’s always the first one awake and the first one asleep. Frank doesn’t mind; he thinks mornings are peaceful, and he likes how Gerard’s breathing sounds when he’s fully asleep, deep and steady and comforting in a way that always makes Frank want to fall asleep again.

He never can, though. Frank’s gotten to the point where he can tell that Gerard will probably sleep for at least an hour after Frank wakes up, so he’s built in a routine of sneaking outside for a cigarette and to discreetly check if anyone else is home. If he’s lucky – which he is today – there are no cars parked in the driveway and no sound coming from upstairs, which leads him to venturing into the kitchen to brew some coffee and tiptoe back downstairs on the off chance that someone’s still in the house.

Frank didn’t tell Gerard this, but one time he did run into Gerard’s mom as she was leaving. He’d stumbled out some bullshit about how _I’m, uh, friends with Gerard_ , and had received a laugh and an _okay, it’s nice to meet you, sweetie_ , and she’d left.

Since then, Frank had been considerably more careful. He’s _very_ careful today, since he has no fucking idea if Mikey’s home or not, and he eventually makes it back downstairs with coffee and two slices of slightly burned toast but leaving barely any trace behind him.

He hates waking Gerard up; Gerard always looks exhausted and Frank _knows_ he never sleeps long or well enough, but they have plans today and it’s already two in the afternoon. They’d had a late one last night. They hadn’t made it back until nearly midnight, and by that time Frank had been ready to eat Gerard alive. Gerard had put on a movie, but it had been nothing more than a pretense, they’d sat down on the bed to watch it and they hadn’t even gotten five minutes into it before Frank was swearing and trying to get Gerard’s pants off.

 _I love you_ , Frank had said with the kisses he’d pressed into Gerard’s skin, _I love you_ , he’d hidden in the way he’d been fluently swearing when Gerard was inside him, _I love you_ , Frank hadn’t stopped himself from fucking gasping when he came, his head thrown back and Gerard placing deliberate kisses on the column of his throat, and he’d felt Gerard mouthing _I love you too_ against his erratic fucking pulse.

It had been stupid and frantic in the way that it is when you can’t go for a minute longer without having your hands on the other person; he’d felt almost desperate with it, like if he hadn’t done something he’d lose a window to tell Gerard exactly how much he cares about him. Frank knows now that he was far too loud, that he talks too much during sex and that Gerard had known they were going to fuck and that’s why he’d put on the movie, so that if Frank hadn’t been able to shut the fuck up, they could blame it on that.

They both made some embarrassing sounds. Frank isn't the only one to blame. Either way, they stayed awake for far too long, Frank, at least, unable to fucking settle down, which had kept Gerard up, and had led ultimately to a slow morning and Frank having to wake Gerard up now, because if he doesn’t, at the pace they move when they’re leaving the house, they’re going to miss Ray’s screening.

“Hey,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, coming to sit next to Gerard on the bed. Frank sets the mugs he has balanced in one hand on the little table next to Gerard’s bed and balances the plate of toast next to it – fucking precariously, Gerard has far too much shit _everywhere_ – and nudges Gerard’s shoulder slightly with his knee. “Wake up.”

Gerard’s face gets scrunched up in his sleep and he makes a noise that sounds like he’s annoyed, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Frank decides the next logical course of action is to either annoy Gerard into waking up or to suck his dick, so he opts for the latter. He can tell when Gerard fully wakes up because he gasps, much more alertly than the sounds he’s been making before, and his hand immediately goes to Frank’s hair.

Frank pulls off, his mouth making a little _pop_ sound, and grins at Gerard. “Hi,” he says, “how are you?”

“Fuck, Frankie,” Gerard says, and his voice sounds fucking _wrecked_ , so Frank takes that as a sign that he should continue.

An hour later, after they’re both significantly more awake and the coffee is cold and Frank has bite marks on the insides of his thighs, Gerard says, “Fuck, how much time do we have before we have to go to Ray’s thing?”

“Uh,” Frank pauses to look at his phone on Gerard’s bedside table, passing Gerard the plate of (now cold) toast in order to reach, “an hour? The screening starts at seven, but he wanted to meet at six so we could get dinner first.”

Gerard blinks. “Wait, we only have an hour? How fucking late did I sleep?”

“I mean, it’s three, but we have to shower, and I need to get more clothes from home.” Frank grabs Gerard’s hand and pulls him to his feet, rolling his eyes at how Gerard groans exaggeratedly at the movement and the forced self-care. “Come on, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

They don’t make up a reason for them to show up together to the restaurant that Ray had told them to come to, but no one asks, so Frank doesn’t offer an explanation. Ray’s showing the short film he’s been working on for a while, along with a bunch of his other classmates, so Frank gets the impression it’s like a mini film festival. This explains the amount of fucking insufferable people monopolizing at least half the restaurant, and Frank has to use his elbows to get around the people just fucking _standing_ near their tables instead of being reasonable and sitting down, Gerard right behind him.

“Hey, Toro!” Frank calls, and Ray turns in his direction, grinning brightly. “What the fuck, there are so many people, I thought just we were meeting up before?”

“Hey!” Ray replies. “I don’t know, I guess a lot of people had the same idea? We’re just going down the street after this, so. Either way, I’m glad you guys could make it!”

“Yeah, me too, man,” Frank says, and he looks around. “Jesus Christ. Do we have a table?”

“Over there.” Ray gestures vaguely at a table, Frank getting up on his tiptoes to get a view of it, and sees Mikey standing on one of the chairs with his arms crossed, arguing with someone who’s clearly trying to take one of them away.

“Wow,” Gerard says as they start to head in Mikey’s direction. “Holding down the fort, I see,” he says to his brother, who flashes a quick grin and gets down from the chair as everyone comes over to sit.

“Always,” Mikey replies. “Did you guys get here at the same time?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Frank says, fucking lamely, but Mikey doesn’t question it.

They have dinner and it’s nice and easy and then they go to Ray’s screening and, despite having to sit through a lot of stupidly emotional films that Frank couldn’t give less of a shit about, getting to see Ray’s and how excited he is by how fucking _weird_ it is (the title is _Cowardly Zombie_ ) and how well received it is by the audience makes the rest of the boring shit worth it.

“Holy shit,” Gerard says when they’re leaving the theater, his breath frosting in the night air. “Ray, that was fucking _sick_!”

“Aw, thanks,” Ray replies, blushing a little bit. “I think it went well.”

“Of course, it did,” Mikey says, nudging Ray a little with his elbow. “I knew it was going to.”

Ray looks deeply embarrassed, but he brushes off the compliments and says, “So, uh, do you guys want to go for drinks or something to celebrate?”

Everyone agrees and they head out to a bar, Ray and Gerard having to buy all the drinks on the off chance that they’re going to card. Frank isn't sure how good his fake is, but he doesn’t want to go through the hassle and embarrassment of getting kicked out. He’s nicely buzzed later when he goes out for a smoke with Gerard, and they’re leaning against the wall of the alley between the bar and the currently closed store next to it, and Gerard says, “Oh, wait, I got you something.”

“What?” Frank asks, not sure if he heard right. “You didn’t need to…”

“I know,” Gerard says. He frowns. “I feel like we have this conversation every time we try to do something nice.”

Frank shrugs. “What can I say, I’m bad at taking compliments, even in the form of gifts.”

“You and me both,” Gerard says, and he pulls a little bag out of his pocket. “Anyway, just – before you get weird about this –”

“Who says I’m going to get weird about it?”

Gerard makes a skeptical face at Frank. “Me. I _know_ you’re going to get weird about it. Just listen, okay? There are a couple of reasons.”

Frank takes the bag. “Can I open it, so you get to explain the reasons while I look at it, so it makes more sense?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

Frank opens the little drawstring bag and pulls out a necklace. Well, it’s at least the chain to a necklace. On the end, instead of a pendant or something, is a silver key with a little charm in the shape of a _G_ in the ring attaching it to the chain.

“Oh,” he says, and he looks back at Gerard, who’s looking like he regrets this.

“It’s – look, your stupid choker,” Gerard begins, raking a hand through his hair, and Frank watches his motion, “it’s hot, but it’s so fucking stupid. You can’t even – anyway, I thought this would work better. And also, you’re over at my place all the time, so. The _G_ is so you know which one is which.”

Frank doesn’t say anything for a minute. He thinks if he speaks his heart is going to fucking fall out of his mouth or something equally gross.

Gerard begins, in a tone like he’s doing damage control, “Frankie, it’s – you don’t have to, if you don’t –”

“I love it,” Frank interrupts. “I love it, I love you.”

“Oh,” Gerard says, his mouth starting to curl into a little smile. “Good, that’s great, I lo –”

Frank kisses him before he can finish his words. He doesn’t need to hear it. He knows how Gerard feels.


	11. week ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy staples day!!!!!!!!!!! this is a long one today. the word count is literally 9.4k. holy fuck. holy FUCK am i right?
> 
> anyway, i just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has been leaving comments and talking about this on twitter and sharing it with people they know. it means so much to me that it means so much to YOU and i really love seeing people care about staples as much as i do <3
> 
> huge huge huge thank you to my friends (specifically the subway boothers) for letting me have brainrot and sharing it with me and especially projektgerard for being the BEST beta i could ask for (even though no one seems to remember this,... hmm) <3 i love you guys thank you so much <333
> 
> please come and say hi to me and i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!!! (it's emotional ahaha i'm sorry but i will make the same promise that i always do - EVERYTHING WILL WORK OUT.)
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media!

It’s Sunday, and it’s a whole five days before they get paid, and Mikey needs cash.

He doesn’t know where it always ends up going. Gerard would say that this is because Mikey’s too fucking social all the time, and maybe he wouldn’t have a deficit in his bank account if he’d spend less time out and about, but Mikey’s never been one to sit and let life happen to him. Despite how rude Mikey’s imagined version of Gerard is being about Mikey’s social life – granted, Mikey’s rude about _real_ Gerard’s social life as well, so he supposes it’s a bit even – Mikey knows what his only real option is, so he grits his teeth and steels himself to put on his jester’s hat and jingle miserably to the basement to ask Gerard for money.

It’s _embarrassing_ that it’s come to this. Just over two months ago, Mikey was the brother who was flush with cash and attention, and now it seems like the tables have turned. Mikey knows that Gerard doesn’t exactly consider this a win, especially given that he’d really rather be doing anything than working at Staples, but the fact that he’s leaving the house and seeming to not be letting himself sink into the despair that he so easily slips into sometimes is a good sign in itself.

However, Gerard has been almost suspiciously happy lately, and it’s gotten to the point where Mikey’s getting sick of the secrecy.

Mikey isn't stupid. He knows that whatever Gerard has going on, it’s probably good for him, but the suspicions that are rooted deep in his chest – that he’s almost afraid to speak because he’s worried about what he’s going to do if they’re true – have him concerned. Not just for Gerard, but for himself. He _knows_ , in his heart, that there isn't anything _bad_ about if Gerard’s actually doing what Mikey’s afraid he’s doing, and that the root of his issue with the whole situation is that neither party has decided to include him in something big going on for them, but… fuck.

He hasn’t talked to Ray about it since that last time, when Ray had said to leave it alone. Mikey knows Ray’s right, that it _isn't_ his business and that as much as he cares about his brother and their friend, he shouldn’t be trying to get involved in something that isn't his. This is why Mikey’s left so much shit to just sit. He thinks that if he _tried_ to find evidence, he _could_ , and fucking easily, but he doesn’t want to cause shit.

Ultimately, the idea of actively looking for something and disrupting a secret that Gerard has clearly kept from him for a reason makes Mikey feel sick, if only for the way that it would make Gerard feel.

On the other hand, Mikey feels so fucking twisted up inside over the fact that no one has trusted him enough to tell him about this that he’s worried for what might happen if and when he stumbles across something. He genuinely doesn’t know how he’s going to react.

That’s a problem for another day, though. Mikey taps on Gerard’s door, softly, like he always does. Gerard always hears him anyway, despite the low volume, so since he doesn’t respond, Mikey assumes that his brother is asleep and proceeds to slowly push open the door and tiptoe inside.

“Gee?” he says, voice raised just above a whisper, and there’s no reply. Mikey makes his way down the stairs and sees Gerard curled up in his bed, weirdly stuck on one side of it, as though he’d been leaving a space open next to him.

“Hey,” Mikey tries again, just to be polite, but Gerard is and always has been a heavy sleeper, and when he doesn’t wake up, Mikey shrugs and picks his way over to the little table by the door where Gerard, disorganized as he is, somehow always remembers to put his keys and wallet.

He sets the keys aside, carefully, so that they don’t jingle, and opens Gerard’s wallet to see if his brother has any cash. Mikey’s done this a couple of times before – he always sticks a little note inside that says _took $20. Gonna pay you back on Friday. Mikey :)_ just in case he forgets to tell Gerard, and he always _does_ pay him back. This isn't an issue.

Gerard has cash. He also has a fuckton of receipts shoved into the big section of his wallet, and Mikey pulls out a wad of paper – both bills and the flimsy little filmy shit that receipts are always printed on – and starts to sort through the stack in his hand.

He separates out the receipts and the cash and tucks a twenty into his pocket before he comes across something that’s neither a receipt nor currency and it makes him freeze in his motion. It takes Mikey a minute to identify what the little strip of stiff, shiny paper in his hand is, but as he looks at it for longer, he figures it out.

It’s a strip of four pictures from a photobooth. He recognizes Gerard right away, but it’s almost hard to, because he’s never seen Gerard like this before. Gerard’s smiling in the first picture, in a way that’s so fucking bright and carefree that Mikey hardly knows what to do with it; he’s with another person in these pictures, looking at them with love shining out of every single part of his expression. Gerard has his hand hooked into the other person’s necklace in the second picture, he’s kissing their neck while they’re laughing. The other two pictures are just kissing pictures, eyes closed, the other person in Gerard’s lap with one hand in his hair and the other resting on his chest.

The pictures are so fucking intimate, so personal, so _clearly_ important to Gerard that Mikey feels like his stomach was ripped out, like he shouldn’t have seen this.

He’s never seen Gerard like this. He shouldn’t have, that’s not for him to see. That’s between Gerard and the person he’s with in these pictures.

And then Mikey feels like his lungs have been stolen too, because the person so clearly in love with Gerard in these pictures is _Frank_.

“Fuck,” Mikey says under his breath, so grateful that he’s managing to keep his voice low. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He doesn’t think. He puts the receipts back in the wallet and the picture in his pocket with the twenty and gets the fuck out.

Mikey has class on Monday, so he’s up early. Unfortunately, he’s also up early because he hasn’t fucking slept.

He went out with Ray yesterday, but he was quiet the whole time. Ray never presses him to talk about things he doesn’t want to, but Mikey knows he was concerned. They’d gone out looking to see if they could find a decent set of speakers for Ray’s sound system at a somewhat cheap price, and had also been browsing through music and other shit in general, and Mikey had seen Ray shooting him worried little glances the entire time, but he hadn’t known how to explain it.

They’d been in the car later, a secondhand set of speakers in Ray’s backseat and a handful of records on Mikey’s lap, and he’d said, “I don’t know what to do.”

Ray had been about to turn the key in the ignition, but he’d paused at Mikey’s words. “What’s wrong?”

“I think –” Mikey had stopped and looked out the window before saying, “I think he’s – he’s moving on.”

Ray had frowned, turning to look at Mikey more fully. “Who? Gerard? What does that mean?”

Mikey had shrugged and said, “I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me anything anymore.”

“Did you see something?”

Mikey had dug around in his pocket and pulled out the photobooth picture strip, handing it to Ray wordlessly, who had stared at it for a minute before handing it back.

“Look,” Ray had said softly after a minute, “just because he didn’t tell you about this doesn’t mean it’s anything about _you_. It just means he – he wasn’t ready.”

“Why not?” Mikey had asked. “What, he doesn’t trust me anymore?”

Ray had paused again, and then said, “Sometimes it’s nice to have things that are just yours.”

Mikey hadn’t known what to say. He and Gerard have never had secrets, not like this. Mikey, at least, has always felt like they understood each other, to the point where a lot of things didn’t need to be said, but that they just _knew_. They’ve always been close. Gerard is his best friend. They grew up together and they’re continuing on that path.

At least, that’s what Mikey thinks. Something inside his chest is pulsing with the sick, worried idea that Gerard is suddenly growing faster and in a different direction that Mikey, and Mikey doesn’t know what it’s like to not be on the same trajectory as his big brother.

The thought had terrified him then, in the car with Ray, so he’d stuck his hand out and Ray had held it, his thumb making little circles on the back of Mikey’s hand, and they’d sat there and had been quiet for a long time until Mikey had said he was ready to go.

The thought is still terrifying Mikey now, home in the kitchen of his house. He doesn’t have class until ten, but he’s getting a ride with Ray today because he doesn’t think he can handle being in a car with Gerard alone right now. Besides, he’s pretty sure Gerard is still asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake him up. Ray’s going to drive the both of them to Staples later, and Mikey’s going to do his damnedest to avoid his brother and any real conversation with him until he can figure out what the fuck he wants to say.

Mikey’s been deliberately avoiding thinking about sitting next to Frank for a full shift while _knowing_ that he’s – Mikey feels almost sick. Yeah, he’s not going to think about what he’s going to need to say to Frank until that comes up.

There’s a clattering sound, and Mikey refocuses his eyes after realizing he’s been staring loosely at the floor for long enough that he didn’t notice Gerard coming into the kitchen. His brother looks… surprisingly nice, Mikey realizes. He’s in what Mikey can only describe as _professional_ attire, looking extremely clean if exhausted, his tie a little crooked and his hands stopping themselves in jerky little motions before he can drag them through his hair and mess up what he’s combed.

“Oh,” Mikey says. “You’re up early.”

Gerard glances at the clock on the microwave. “It’s eight.”

Mikey raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s early. For you.”

“I could say the same,” Gerard replies. “Do you have class today?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, shrugging. “Ray’s giving me a ride.”

“Oh, okay.” There’s a pause. Gerard looks stressed out.

“Got a hot date?” Mikey tries weakly, and Gerard glances at him. He sort of half-grins, and Mikey returns the smile.

“Nah, just –” Gerard shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s a thing.”

It’s weird that Gerard isn't telling him exactly what’s going on, and that knowledge makes that sick, swooping feeling of fear that his brother is leaving him behind come back to Mikey’s chest in a heavy rush.

“Okay,” Mikey says, casually, but he’s worried that his voice is betraying him. “I hope it goes well.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Gerard looks incredibly distracted, then says, hand lingering around his back left pocket, “It would be going better if I could find… whatever, I probably put it somewhere and I don’t remember.”

“Do you need help looking for…?” Mikey lets his sentence trail off and Gerard looks at him with an expression that Mikey recognizes as rooted in panic.

“Oh! No,” Gerard says hastily. “I, uh, I don’t wanna make you dig through my shit, Mikey. That’s not fair. It’s not important.”

It clearly _is_ important, because if it wasn’t, Gerard wouldn’t be this agitated about it, and he wouldn’t feel the need to hide what it is from Mikey.

Mikey has the sudden realization that the thing Gerard is missing are the pictures with Frank, and the twisting feeling in his abdomen lurches into guilt.

Despite how guilty he feels about this, he can’t bring himself to go upstairs and get the pictures for Gerard. He physically cannot let Gerard know that he knows, not now, not before he’s ready to talk about it, not right before Gerard has something going on that he’s clearly nervous about and that he doesn’t want to tell Mikey about.

He stands stiffly in the kitchen as Gerard sips at a cup of coffee and silence descends, and he knows Gerard can also tell that something’s wrong, but Mikey can’t talk about it. He’s so fucking afraid that if he just… if he comes right out and asks Gerard what’s going on and that if just because they’re brothers that doesn’t mean they have to be best friends anymore, he’s afraid that Gerard will say yes.

Mikey feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff. He also feels like he could throw up.

His phone rings. It’s Ray.

“I have to go,” he says to Gerard, and his brother offers him a smile that looks like it could shatter. “I’ll see you later?”

It’s not a statement. It’s a question. _Will I see you later?_ Mikey doesn’t think he can be sure of anything now.

“Of course,” Gerard says, like it’s obvious.

It isn't.

“Do you…” Mikey begins, then stops and clears his throat. Frank looks at him with interest. “Do you know what’s going on with Gerard?”

Frank looks taken aback by Mikey’s question. He doesn’t look _guilty_ , even though he _should_ , Mikey’s surprised that Frank doesn’t look like he’s about to shit his pants in fear of potentially being found out, but instead, Frank just looks surprised.

Yeah, Mikey knows it’s fucking ridiculous. He’s asking _Frank_ what’s wrong with _Gerard_. Like anyone on the planet knows Gerard better than Mikey does. Everyone point and laugh, Mikey doesn’t know what’s going on in the life of his big brother.

“What do you mean?” Frank asks. He stands on the bar between the legs of his stool and cranes his neck over the shelves to look in Gerard’s direction. Mikey does the same, and sees Gerard notice them. He waves at them with a sunny grin on his face that Frank returns with the same radiance, and Mikey, again, feels like he’s in the middle of something.

“He was really stressed out this morning,” Mikey says, already seated again and watching Frank sit back down as well. “I just – I don’t know.”

“Well, he had that big interview today,” Frank replies casually, taking a sip of his coffee, the coffee that Gerard had brought him, like he always does, and Mikey feels like his veins are turning to ice.

“He,” Mikey begins, every beat of his heart causing his limbs to go stiffer, “he had that what?”

Frank frowns, looks at Mikey for a moment, and then he sucks in a breath and his eyes widen. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know _what_?”

“What the… fuck, he said he was going to call you,” Frank says, his voice soft, and he puts a hand to his mouth. “We were – I was there when he got that call, he said he was going to call _you_ or tell you when he saw you next, I just – he didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Mikey says, because whatever it is Frank is talking about, he’s clearly not been informed of. He doesn’t bring up how Frank just said that he and Gerard were hanging out at some point when Mikey wasn’t with them; he doesn’t need to, he knows they’re together. There’s no use in pointing it out. Not now. “He didn’t.”

“Fuck.” Frank sounds genuinely sorry. “I don’t know why he – okay. He had an interview with Cartoon Network this morning. I don’t know why he didn’t say anything.”

Mikey feels numb. He hears himself saying, “Oh. Okay. Thanks, Frankie,” and the next thing he’s aware of he’s walking to the restroom.

He’s happy for Gerard. He’s so fucking happy for Gerard that he feels like he could fall the fuck apart. Mikey thinks Gerard deserves everything, he should have everything he hopes and wishes for and has worked so hard to get.

He _is_ happy for Gerard, he tells himself in the restroom, looking at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes huge behind his glasses and his breath coming out in stupid fucking gasps. He wants all of Gerard’s dreams to come true.

Why does this scare the shit out of him, then?

 _He didn’t tell you_ , says a nasty voice in Mikey’s head. _He didn’t tell you, he doesn’t need you, he’s going to leave you behind_.

Mikey stays in the restroom for a long time.

Looking back on it, Mikey thinks he was stupid to not put it together that there was something going on.

He could think up a million stupid metaphors for what Frank and Gerard are around each other. Gravity, a moth to a flame, the way it feels when you can’t stop yourself from something, the fucking rotation of the earth. They were inevitable. He should’ve known this.

They’re so fucking obvious, too, once he knows what he’s looking for. They’re always touching under the table at Subway, they’re out getting lung cancer together by the dumpsters, Frank is fiddling with a chain around his neck with a couple of keys and a little charm that Mikey can’t make out but with a tiny smile on his face that makes Mikey have to look away.

“What’s that?” he asks, as they’re closing, gesturing at Frank’s necklace.

Frank looks down at it. “My keys?”

“No, idiot, the charm on it.”

“Oh,” Frank says, and turns pink. “Uh.”

Mikey leans in and squints at it. “Is that a _G_?”

Of fucking course it’s a _G_. What else would it be? Mikey isn't the least bit surprised, but he arranges his face into an expression of blank curiosity while Frank stumbles under his scrutiny.

“Yeah,” Frank says finally, after a minute of fake-struggling with getting his bag out from under the counter. “Yeah, it’s for… garage.”

“Garage,” Mikey repeats. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I need a separate key for the garage at my dad’s house,” Frank says, more smoothly than Mikey had been expecting, given the situation. “I used to use the button for the big door, but it doesn’t work, he’s getting it replaced, so it’s a key for. The side door.”

“Cool,” Mikey replies, pulling on his jacket and leaving Frank and his lies behind the counter. He does not climb over the top.

He walks over to the other side of the store, where Ray is counting the money in the Tech Services register. “Hi,” Ray says as Mikey approaches, smiling at him. “What’s up?”

“Can I come back with you today?” Mikey asks, and Ray’s smile fades. Not because of what Mikey’s asking, but because of _why_ he’s asking it. “I don’t want to…”

“I know,” Ray says. His voice is soft. “You know you can always stay.”

Mikey has come to learn, over the past month or so, that as comfortable as Ray’s couch is, his bed is a lot more so. He’s always had a bit of trouble sleeping, but he feels _safe_ with Ray, and it’s always infinitely easier to settle down his thoughts when they’re together.

It’s not working tonight, though. Ray doesn’t ask, because he can read Mikey like a book and knows he doesn’t want to talk, so they _don’t_ talk about it, but Mikey’s brain won’t shut the fuck up. Ray’s in the middle of talking about a movie that Mikey hasn’t been paying attention to the entire time, he’s just been listening because he likes to hear Ray’s sweet voice and how excited he is about the things he’s interested in, and it’s relaxing to be around him. Despite how hard Mikey’s trying to listen, though, he can’t get the mean feeling in the back of his head telling him how everyone he loves will eventually leave him to shut the fuck up, so he forces himself into distraction by cutting Ray off mid-speech with his own mouth.

Mikey’s effectively distracted for a decent period of time, and he forgets his fears in the way Ray makes him feel, not just physically, but emotionally, and Mikey thinks that despite everything else going on, at least this is good.

It’s early the next morning when Mikey goes home. Ray drives him, and they tiptoe into the house after taking note of Gerard’s car being the only one in the driveway. It’s early enough that Mikey thinks his brother will still be asleep, so he doesn’t have to worry about running into him and dealing with his shit.

Mikey doesn’t need to think about this right now. He has classes to get to today. Despite that, he plans on taking a nap upstairs for an hour or so, and Ray had said he would stay with him, so into the house they go.

Ray is an expert at being quiet, so the front door barely makes any noise behind him as he shuts it, the sound of the frame closing nothing more than a whisper. It’s because they’re so quiet, Mikey’s hand intertwined with Ray’s, their breaths hushed, that Mikey can hear it.

The kitchen is farther back in the house. There are a lot of rooms between them. But he can hear it, muffled and distorted, and he’d recognize the sounds anywhere.

Mikey knows what Gerard sounds like when he laughs, and that’s it. He can hear Frank’s voice too, clearly the cause of Gerard’s laugh, and Mikey finds himself stepping forward, quietly, to hear more.

He knows he’s going to get that sick feeling like he’s intruding again, but he can’t help it. His hand tightens on Ray’s and Ray is pulled along behind him, though when Mikey looks back, Ray looks like he wants to let go and run.

He doesn’t. Mikey wants to kiss him, not just for that, but also because of it, but he thinks this isn't the time.

He sneaks just close enough to the kitchen to peek around, and he sees Frank sitting on the counter, fully dressed, holding a mug, telling a story about something that happened with his band, his free hand gesturing wildly. Gerard is in his pajamas still and he has his back to the door, but his face is just angled enough that Mikey can see that look in his eyes again, like how he’d looked in the pictures that Mikey absolutely wasn’t supposed to see.

He isn't supposed to see this, either. He wants to back away. He isn't ready to talk about this right now.

“And then,” Frank is saying, but then the clock on the wall next to Mikey’s head chimes the hour, and Frank looks towards it.

Their eyes meet, and it would be almost comical, the way Frank’s widen and how he gasps and almost chokes, if Mikey didn’t feel like his insides were about to collapse. Gerard says, “Frankie, are you –” before he turns his head to the direction Frank is looking and sees Mikey, a stricken expression on his face.

“Oh,” Gerard says, in a very small voice.

“I’m late,” Frank blurts out, and he gets down from the counter. “Gee, I’ll – I’ll see you later.”

They both look like they hesitate for a minute, like this is when they’d kiss each other goodbye if Mikey hadn’t ruined it by just _being_. Instead of kissing Gerard, Frank touches his hand in a motion that seems to be a thousand times more intimate, and Mikey looks away. Frank picks up a bag that Mikey hadn’t noticed before from the table and edges past Mikey and Ray on his way out of the house.

Frank doesn’t look at Mikey, but he says, “Hi, Ray,” very softly.

“Hi,” Ray replies, at the same volume, and then the door shuts and Frank is gone.

Gerard, mouth open, turns to look at Mikey. “Mikey, I…”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Mikey says, because he can’t. He isn't ready.

Still keeping his grip on Ray’s hand, Mikey gets his school shit on the way out of the house and leaves.

Mikey’s out of the house for approximately thirty seconds before Gerard’s phone rings.

He wants to ignore it. He wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. But it’s Frank, so he answers it. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Frank says, and there’s a lot of background sound. He’s in the car. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Gerard answers honestly. “Are _you_ okay?”

There’s a pause. “I’m okay,” Frank says, and he sounds careful about it. “Do you – he didn’t look surprised.”

Gerard sighs, as deeply and as noisily as he can. It’s the only way he knows how to convey how fucked up everything feels right now. The worst part is, Frank’s right. “I know,” he says.

Frank is quiet again. Gerard can hear his turn signal ticking in the background. “Do you want me to come back?” Frank asks softly. “I can skip. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is,” Gerard replies. He tugs at his hair, as if that’ll give him some sort of fucking hold on his own life. “It _is_ a big deal, I’m not gonna ask you to do that.”

“Okay,” Frank says. He sounds reluctant about it, but Gerard knows he’s not going to argue about it. “I can… I don’t know if it would be weird if I came over later.”

“It might be,” Gerard concedes. “I mean, not because of you, but just…”

“Mikey,” Frank fills in the blank, then he says, “Well, you can always come over to my house. I know we’ve kind of… taken over yours, but, you know, I have my own space, too. It’s okay.”

Gerard is torn. Part of him feels like he should essentially ground himself and not see Frank for at least today, as a punishment for the way Mikey’s expression had looked when he’d seen them in the kitchen, but another part of him knows he’s gonna feel Frank’s absence like a hole in his chest.

He wonders what he did before he met Frank. He thinks his life was a lot emptier.

“Okay,” Gerard says, finally, and Frank sort of hums in acknowledgement. “Just… let me know when you’re home and I’ll come over.”

“Cool,” Frank says, but his voice is still tense with what Gerard can recognize as worry over the situation. “I’m almost at school, I gotta go. Don’t beat yourself up today.”

“I won’t,” Gerard says. It’s only sort of a lie. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you then. Be nice to yourself. I love you.”

It’s casual and light, but hearing Frank say that makes Gerard’s heart twist and jitter in a way that almost counteracts how badly he feels about Mikey. “I love you, too. Have a good day.”

“I’ll try,” Frank says, and he hangs up.

Gerard resolves to also try. But he can’t do simply _nothing_ or anything that doesn’t require the full absorption of his brain, because then he’s going to devote his entire consciousness into spiraling out over what Mikey’s thought process is and if he’s mad and if he’s never going to speak to Gerard again for dating his friend, so Gerard does the unthinkable.

He cleans the basement.

Gerard doesn’t know how long it takes, but he knows that he throws himself into his tasks and that his single-mindedness is coming in handy now, because all he’s focusing on is getting all the gross shit out and doing approximately fifteen thousand loads of laundry and hauling the vacuum down the stairs and wincing at the rattling sounds that who knows what is making in the tube as it gets sucked into the cavity. He opens the little window to get some fresh air in. It’s fucking cold, but he grits his teeth and puts a hoodie on over his t-shirt and keeps going. He cleans every fucking surface he can get to and the air smells sharp with cleaner and he keeps sneezing, but he only stops when his phone rings again.

To Gerard’s surprise, it’s the middle of the afternoon. He picks up the phone and tells Frank that he’ll be over in a couple of minutes, and then he sits on the floor for a little bit so he can get the motivation together to get out the door. It isn't that Gerard doesn’t want to see Frank, it’s just that his body and his brain have been moving for hours at this point, so the idea of actually leaving the house is exhausting to him.

He does it anyway, though. He throws stuff in a bag that he might need for overnight – because as convenient as it is for Frank to have a toothbrush at Gerard’s place, Gerard hasn’t done the same for Frank’s – and checks his appearance in the mirror before heading out to make sure he isn't disgusting from the cleaning. The verdict is that he’s only a little gross, so Gerard considers that a win and heads over to Frank’s.

The door is unlocked, so he lets himself in and Frank comes over to greet him, giving Gerard approximately two seconds to put down his bag and take off his jacket before enveloping him in a tight hug, arms wrapped around Gerard’s waist. They stand there like that for a moment, Gerard holding Frank to him around his shoulders, Frank’s face in Gerard’s neck, and Frank says against Gerard’s skin, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Gerard replies.

“I know,” Frank says, letting go enough to step back. He leaves his hands on Gerard’s sides. “I’m just sorry that this is happening.”

“It’s okay,” Gerard says, even though he doesn’t feel anywhere remotely near okay. “I just… I don’t want him to be upset.”

“I think,” Frank begins, frowning a little, as he starts to walk over to the couch, pulling Gerard with him through their linked hands, “I think he’s not just – he’s not upset about _us_ , you know?”

Gerard frowns. “What do you mean?”

Frank sits, then looks off to the side and sighs. “Gee, you didn’t tell him about your interview.”

“Oh,” Gerard says, sitting down next to Frank. That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting at all. “I didn’t – I didn’t think about it. I didn’t tell anyone but you.”

Frank frowns. “Would you have even told _me_ if I wasn’t there when they called you?”

Gerard doesn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t tell Mikey because telling Mikey would’ve been saying it out loud, and having more people know would make him feel like the expectations were mounting, and he hadn’t thought he’d be able to handle that. It would make shit so much fucking _worse_ if he’d ended up bombing the interview, so he thought maybe he’d tell Mikey afterwards. Or he’d never mention it at all, if Cartoon Network had decided he wasn’t worth it.

He realizes he’s been quiet, thinking about it, for long enough that Frank has drawn his own conclusion for how Gerard would’ve handled the situation if Frank hadn’t already known. “Okay,” Frank says. He picks at a loose string coming off a rip on one of the knees of his jeans. “I see.”

“Frankie, just…” Gerard begins, then pauses. Fuck. “I don’t know. I was nervous.”

“Yeah, but – look, you tell each other everything, he’s probably freaked out by that.”

“Yeah,” Gerard replies. He knows that. He doesn’t know what else to say about it, though. “I can’t do anything about it until he wants to talk.”

Frank softens a little bit, and he says, “I know.” He reaches over and brushes Gerard’s hair out of his face. Gerard hadn’t even noticed it was obscuring his vision until Frank’s careful fingers were tucking the strands behind his ear. “It’ll be okay.”

Gerard shrugs. Frank looks at him so tenderly that it starts to make Gerard’s chest ache, and he loves Frank. Gerard knows that, but sometimes he feels it like a surge in his limbs, radiating out from his heart, and he almost doesn’t know what to do when that happens.

Well, he could do something. He’s about to lean forward and kiss Frank when Frank, his hand still on Gerard’s face, frowns and says, “Why do you smell like… disinfectant?”

Gerard blinks, then says, “Oh. I was cleaning.”

Frank laughs a little bit. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, shrugging. “I needed a distraction.”

Frank is looking at him like he would do anything to be able to solve all of Gerard’s problems right now, but he only says, “I get it,” and then he brings his other hand to the other side of Gerard’s face and kisses him, very gently.

Later, when it’s the middle of the night, or as close to that as Gerard can tell, the lights are off except for a little, softly golden one across the room, he feels Frank move around and get out of bed, sitting on the edge to pull on a pair of sweatpants and Gerard’s hoodie before he makes his way across the room, fiddling around with his phone. He clearly thinks Gerard’s still asleep, so Gerard stops himself before he asks Frank what’s going on, just lying still and listening.

Frank holds the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he says, his voice hushed. His arms are crossed tightly over his body, worry evident in every line of his form, and Gerard feels intensely guilty for making him feel that way. “Is he with you?”

There’s a pause. Frank relaxes a little bit, then says, “Yeah, Gee’s with me right now. He’s asleep, I didn’t – I didn’t want to call while… Yeah.”

Frank sighs, then continues, “Ray, listen –” _Oh_ , Gerard thinks. No wonder Frank didn’t want to call while he thought Gerard was able to hear half the conversation. “Just – I’m fucking worried, okay? No, I’m not overreacting. He cleaned the basement.”

Ray’s reaction is as it always is when his emotions run high; his voice gets higher and louder and this time it’s to the point where Gerard can hear a tinny version of it coming out of the speaker, like a tiny, crinkly version of Ray is standing on Frank’s shoulder and shouting _What?!_ through a little, old-timey megaphone.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Frank stresses, and he looks back over his shoulder at Gerard, who hasn’t moved since Frank got up, but who immediately panics, shuts his eyes tight, even though Frank can’t see if they’re open or not anyway. and tries to make sure he’s not… breathing suspiciously or something. Frank stares at him for a moment, Gerard doesn’t know if Frank’s trying to figure out if his boyfriend is awake or not, but he turns away again and says to Ray, “Look, I don’t know what you can do, but they have to talk to each other. I know Gee wants to, he just – he won’t even try until Mikey tells him it’s okay. Has Mikey said anything?”

A pause. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, I know, it’s not our place, just… yeah. I’m just – Mikey’s my friend, too, you know?”

Gerard can sort of hear Ray’s tone again, but this time it’s calm and soothing, and Frank sighs deeply. “You’re right,” he says again, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Am I in the shit, too?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he laughs, short and breathy and like it’s not really that funny but this is all he can do. “Not as much as Gerard. Okay. Tell him I said thanks.”

Frank waits for Ray’s response, then says. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Thanks, Ray. Goodnight.” He hangs up the phone.

Gerard shuts his eyes again. Frank comes over and puts one leg on the bed, then uses it to nudge Gerard’s thigh with his knee. “You can stop pretending you’re asleep now.”

Gerard, resigned to being caught, opens his eyes. Frank is looking down at him, face so heavily shadowed that Gerard can’t really see his expression, but he’s imagining it to be one of a weird mix of disapproval and worry. “How did you know?” he asks.

Frank sighs. “I know what your breathing sounds like when you’re actually asleep. I wake up before you on a daily basis. Do you want to stay up?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard says, and he looks away from Frank and towards the ceiling. Frank leans in the other direction and flips the switch on the lamp next to the bed before getting back in and under the covers.

“Just in case,” Frank says, by way of explanation. “Ray says it’ll be okay and he’s gonna try to get Mikey to talk.”

Gerard doesn’t say anything to that, he just waits while Frank sits and gets comfortable.

He’s sitting up next to Gerard, with just his legs under the covers, Gerard turned on his side to look up at Frank. “I like this on you,” Gerard says, partially to say something, partially because it’s true, reaching out and tugging lightly on one of the strings of his hoodie. Frank smiles a little bit and completes a perpetual motion, brushing Gerard’s hair out of his face with an air like this is something he genuinely enjoys doing.

“I like it on me, too.”

Gerard thinks about how un-fucking-wavering Frank is in how he’s always seemed to feel about Gerard, he thinks about Frank calling Ray to try and fix things, he thinks about how Frank laughs when Gerard kisses his neck, he thinks about how Frank looks right now, with the lamp light coming from behind him and casting a gentle wash of golden light over his skin, making the edges of his messy hair all fuzzy, and everything Gerard feels for him is like a gut punch.

“I love you so much,” he says, because if he doesn’t, he thinks his chest might collapse.

“And I love you,” Frank replies, his smile becoming the version it is when he feels exactly the same way Gerard does right now.

Frank kisses him, moving to a lying down position, and Gerard thinks about how Frank never says _I love you too_ , like he wants it to be known that his feelings are equal and can stand alone, that they’re not an extension of Gerard’s statements. As Gerard sneaks a hand under the hoodie that Frank took from him, the graze of his fingertips eliciting a gasp from Frank that Gerard feels, hot on his mouth, he resolves to adjust his phrasing in the same way.

Brian clearly knows something’s going on, because he sticks Gerard in PMS with Frank so that Mikey can be on the registers.

Gerard thinks that’s a bad idea for customer service reasons, but he doesn’t comment. He feels guilty being in the same space as Frank where Mikey can see, he feels sick that he and Mikey aren’t speaking, he felt a lurching twist in his chest when Mikey had come into the breakroom with Ray at the start of their shift and hadn’t said a word to Gerard, and he feels horrible now, especially with Frank trying occasionally to make Gerard laugh and bring him out of the slump he’s been in since Mikey had left.

“He hates me,” he says to Frank as Mikey walks by with only a glance in their direction. “He hates me, we’re never going to recover from this.”

Frank, pressing a button on the laminator before walking away, replies, “No, he doesn’t. He’s never going to _hate_ you, Gee.”

Gerard looks at Frank, and he must have a pathetic expression on his face, because Frank’s softens and his head tilts to one side, like he wants to hug Gerard but doesn’t know if that’s what will make it better. It would help, but Gerard isn't going to _ask_.

“How do you know?” Gerard asks, and Frank comes over to him where he sits on the stool behind the counter. He stands between Gerard’s legs and Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s waist and rests his forehead against Frank’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, eyes closed, like he can forget everything in the steady thrum of Frank’s pulse telling him _I’m here_ with every beat.

“Because,” Frank says softly, and Gerard can feel one of his hands absentmindedly playing with the hair curling around Gerard’s collar, the other on Gerard’s shoulder, “I do, okay?”

Gerard is about to say _okay_ back, when there’s the sound of a throat clearing, and he opens his eyes. He lets go of Frank and looks across the counter to see Mikey standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking sullen and resentful and like he’d rather do anything than see the two of them like this, or just see Gerard in general.

“Mikey,” Gerard says, the word coming out like a weird, strangled gasp, and he feels like he might cry. “Do –”

“Shut up,” Mikey interrupts, and Gerard does. “I’ve decided I want to talk to you. But not now. Come to Ray’s after work.”

“Oh,” Gerard manages, and Mikey looks at him, his expression flat and controlled in a different way than it normally is. It’s almost cold. Gerard suddenly has a rush of empathy for Party City Pete, and he says, “Uh, do – do you want just me, or…?”

“No.” Mikey lets out a long-suffering sigh and continues, “Most fucking regrettably, Frank has to come, too.”

“Okay,” Frank says in a small voice. One of his hands is still on Gerard’s shoulder. “Mikey, I’m –”

Mikey cuts him off with a sharp, “I didn’t say I wanted to talk to either of you before that.” He leaves.

Frank breaks the silence after a moment. “Well,” he says, the thumb on the hand on Gerard’s shoulder starting to make soothing little circular motions, “he doesn’t hate you.”

Gerard isn't sure he believes Frank, but he starts to count down the hours until the end of their shift with more impatience.

Ray looks nervous. “Does anyone want any coffee?”

“Yes,” Gerard says, desperate for anything to provide a distraction, at the same time that his brother says, “No, let’s just –”

“I can get it,” Frank says, getting up from the couch where he’s sitting next to Gerard, Mikey standing in front of the tv like he’s about to lecture a pair of misbehaving kids, and Ray hovering in the door between the kitchen and living room looking like he wants to start wringing his hands.

Frank touches Gerard’s thigh in a lingering, comforting way as he gets up, and Gerard wants to scream _don’t leave me!_ but Frank goes anyway.

Mikey, unfortunately, decides to wait until Frank gets back to say anything, so Gerard is left sitting with his leg bouncing as a response to the silence until the coffee finishes brewing and Frank returns with a mug. Frank is moving surprisingly nonchalantly, but Gerard can tell that it’s an act he’s putting on for Gerard’s sake, as though if one of them is calm and maintaining that façade it’ll make it easier on the other.

Gerard isn't surprised that Frank is the one keeping his head on. Gerard feels like he’s about to lose his mind.

Ray comes and sits on the arm of the couch, and they all look at Mikey like he’s going to give a presentation to them.

Mikey clears his throat. “So. I’ve gathered you here today, in this neutral location –”

“This is Ray’s apartment,” Gerard interrupts, stupidly, and Mikey glares at him. It’s such an _angry_ look that Gerard is both taken aback and fucking relieved by it. Mikey’s been giving Gerard the blandest, coldest, most impassive fucking looks lately that this one makes him think _good! Fucking good! He’s mad, it means he fucking cares!_

“Shut the fuck up,” Mikey snaps, and Gerard’s fight-or-flight response is starting to tick more towards the former. “Let me fucking speak.”

Gerard raises his hands in a conceding gesture, but he knows Mikey can see the irritation in his posture.

“I brought you here to talk about shit,” Mikey says. “Because apparently, we don’t do that anymore.”

“I don’t have to tell you every single detail of my life, Mikey,” Gerard blurts out, because holy shit, he apparently cannot stop himself. Frank touches his leg with the back of his hand, just barely, like a warning, but Gerard ignores it. “Are you mad that I didn’t come running to you after I kissed Frank for the first time?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Mikey practically spits, and Gerard stands up, because he can’t be sitting for this, he can’t be on such unequal footing with Mikey, he feels like Mikey’s lording his clear superiority over Gerard in this moment, like he fucking does all the time. Look at the Way brothers, one of them has their shit together and it sure as fuck isn't Gerard! “You think I _care_ that you and Frank are fucking?”

“Clearly you do! You lost your shit when you saw us together!”

“You don’t understand _anything_.” Mikey’s words are fucking venomous, his arms are crossed, and Gerard can barely process what’s happening. They haven’t argued like this since they were kids. “I _know_ you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. I’m pissed because you _used_ to want to!”

Gerard is fucking bewildered by this. “Jesus, Mikey, what do you fucking want to know? Am I not allowed to keep shit to myself? I’m a whole _person_ , I’m not just _Mikey’s weird brother_ , I _know_ that’s what everyone you hang out with thinks.”

“Oh,” Mikey says, and there’s an almost cruel little curl to his mouth here, like how he looks right before he says something that he knows is going to hurt. “Oh, we’re going there, are we? You want me to see you as _you_ , but do you fucking see me as anything other than your shadow, Gerard?”

“ _What_?” Gerard asks. He can feel his hands shaking. Somewhere along the line, Frank had taken the coffee cup out of his hand. That’s probably a good thing, because Gerard wants to throw it at Mikey. “I’ve _never_ thought about you like that, you’re my best fucking friend!”

“And you’re mine!” Mikey practically shouts back, but his voice breaks on the last word and Gerard’s anger cracks and starts to dissipate. “And I’m so _fucking_ happy for you, Gee, I want you to have every single good thing that you want, but I don’t want you to –”

Mikey stops. Gerard gives him a moment, and then prompts, “You don’t want me to what?”

“I don’t – I don’t want you to _leave_ ,” Mikey finally says, looking off to the side and then back at Gerard. “Ray said – he said I should tell you exactly how I feel, so I’m going to.”

“Oh, you haven’t been before?” Gerard tries, as a sort of weak little joke, but Mikey doesn’t even acknowledge his attempt at humor.

“Do you,” Frank begins in a small voice, then clears his throat and tries again, “do you want Ray and I to…?” He points vaguely at the door.

Gerard keeps his mouth shut this time, because he’s fairly certain that the question is directed at Mikey. His brother sighs and says, “No, you already heard everything.”

Gerard waits.

Mikey sighs again, rubs at his eyes under his glasses, then looks up again and says, “Look, Gerard, I just –” He pauses and then takes a deep breath and says, kind of stiffly, as though he’s practiced this, “I’m worried that because so many good things are happening for you that you’re not telling me about that this is the beginning of you not needing me anymore, and you’re going to make new friends and become a new person and I want all of your dreams to come true because you’re my brother and my best friend and I love you, but I’m – I’m fucking scared that because you’re not telling me about new things this means that you don’t see me as an important part of your new life. Or whatever.”

Gerard feels like he was just kicked in the shins. Or the dick. Or the fucking spleen. He feels awful.

“Oh,” he manages. “Oh, Mikey, I’m sorry, that isn't – I didn’t want you to feel like that.”

Mikey’s jaw is still set, but having said his piece, he seems like he’s somewhat less upset. “So why didn’t you tell me about Frank? And more importantly, why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me you got an interview with Cartoon fucking Network?”

“Yeah, Gerard, why _didn’t_ you tell him about Frank?” Frank says from next to him, and Gerard rolls his eyes. Ray laughs a little bit.

Gerard can feel his face heating up. “It was – it was nice to have it be just us,” Gerard stumbles out. “Mikey, I didn’t… look, I didn’t want to hear you talk shit.”

Mikey looks irritated again, but more out of exasperation at Gerard’s apparent dumbassery than anything else. “Why would I have talked shit?”

“I’m very annoying,” Frank supplies, and Gerard points to him.

“Exactly,” Gerard says, then tries a weak smile at Mikey.

“I wouldn’t have talked shit,” Mikey says flatly. “I think you’re both idiots and I think Gerard particularly is bad at communicating –”

“Think?” Ray says under his breath. “That’s an understatement.”

“– which is why I said I was fucking worried when I saw the two of you making stupid eyes at each other a couple of months ago,” Mikey continues, while giving Ray a look. “But I wouldn’t have talked _shit_. And I would’ve been there to pick up the pieces if it had blown up, but if it _had_ and I hadn’t _known_ about it, how would I have done that?”

“It’s not going to blow up,” Gerard says quietly, and Mikey just looks at him. “Ray thinks we’re good together.”

Mikey snaps his attention to Ray then, who shrugs. “Yeah, I… knew about this.”

“Jesus Christ, Ray. For how long?”

“I dunno,” Ray says, looking to Frank for help. “New Year’s?”

“I’m surrounded by liars,” Mikey complains, and Gerard thinks he’s being somewhat dramatic. “Okay. Whatever. That answers that. I don’t need to know any more details about the two of you and whatever gross shit you’re doing in the equally gross basement –”

“I cleaned,” Gerard offers, and Mikey stares at him.

“Wow,” Mikey says slowly, then moves on. “Why didn’t you tell me about Cartoon Network?”

Gerard shrugs. “What if I fucked up?”

Mikey seems to understand what Gerard is getting at without any need for further explanation, because he shakes his head and says, “Oh my god, Gerard, you wouldn’t have fucked up. I bet they’re debating on how long they can leave you in suspense before hiring you and that’s the only reason they haven’t called you back already.”

Gerard doesn’t know how to respond for a moment. Finally, he replies, “Thanks, Mikey.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m still mad at you. But, you know, not that much. Also, I have to make an apology of my own, so.”

“Ooh,” Frank says teasingly from the couch. “What did you do?”

Mikey digs around in his pocket and hands Gerard a – _oh fuck_ , Gerard thinks as Mikey holds out the photobooth pictures, face down. Gerard, blushing furiously, grabs them out of Mikey’s hand and sticks them in his wallet before either of them speak about it.

“You shouldn’t have –” Gerard begins, but he shakes his head and cuts himself off. Just a few minutes ago, Gerard probably would’ve shouted at Mikey over this, but he feels like the way he fights is like a lightning strike; sharp and wild for a minute and then it’s gone.

“Sorry,” Mikey says, looking at the ceiling. “I didn’t – I went to get cash and I wasn’t expecting… and then I didn’t think, so I just. I grabbed it and I shouldn’t have but… anyway. We get paid on Friday, so I’ll give you the twenty back then, too. I forgot to leave a note.”

“Did you keep that in your wallet?” Frank asks, an odd quality to his voice, and Gerard doesn’t want to look at him.

“Uh, I mean,” Gerard says, sitting down and covering his face with his hands. His voice is kind of muffled when he says, “Yeah, I did.”

“Oh,” Frank replies. He pulls Gerard’s hands away from his face and kisses his cheek very lightly, but the motion of his thumb on Gerard’s wrist tells him that Frank would like to do more. “You’re sweet.”

“Well,” Gerard begins, not sure what he wants to say, other than the fact that when he actually turns to look at Frank he gets that flooding sensation of how much he loves him traveling through his whole body.

“Gross,” Mikey interrupts, his tone flat. He sits down in the armchair and continues, “Alright, can we watch a movie or something? We all learned valuable lessons today, so I think we’re good.”

“Oh, really?” Ray asks, sounding amused. “What lessons are those?”

Mikey smiles a little, just for Ray, and Gerard tries not to laugh. Hypocrite. “I learned not to take money from Gerard anymore, Gerard learned not to keep secrets, Frank learned he’s annoying, and you learned right now, in this sentence, that I’m irritated that you didn’t tell me about them but that I understand why you did it.”

“What do you _mean_ I’m annoying?” Frank exclaims, his hand still loosely around Gerard’s wrist, and Gerard adjusts the grip so that their fingers are laced together. “I’m the least annoying person I know.”

“That is a flat out lie,” Mikey says. “You literally called yourself annoying in this conversation.”

“I have another bone to pick,” Gerard says. “Why are you saying _I’m_ not supposed to keep secrets? You didn’t tell me about you and Ray.”

Mikey lets out a little laugh, like he can’t believe the idiocy in the room. If Gerard’s being honest, he understands that sentiment. “That was never a secret, you just weren’t paying attention.”

“That’s fair,” Gerard says after a moment, somewhat meekly. “I won’t keep secrets anymore. Or, at least, I’ll try.”

He really means it.

They watch a movie, but just one, and Gerard doesn’t really pay much attention to it, because as much as he’d been into the risk factor of fucking around with Frank when no one else knew, the much subtler touches that Frank has been sneaking while in the room with their friends, hidden in their seemingly innocuous positions next to each other, have been driving Gerard up the wall. When the movie finishes, Frank makes up some excuse – surprisingly smoothly – about how he has to go home because he has school tomorrow and _you’ll drive me, won’t you, Gee?_ and Gerard gets his keys and they leave.

They both know Gerard isn't dropping Frank off at home.

“Have fun!” Ray calls after them as the door shuts behind them, the sound immediately followed by Mikey’s disgusted voice saying, “Gross,” and Frank laughing as he does his absolute best to distract Gerard on the way to the car.

All in all, Gerard decides, struggling to unlock the car with Frank’s needy hands demanding his attention, things seem to be pretty good.

 _Pretty good? Watch out for something bad!_ comes a stupid thought at the back of his head, and as much as the mere thought of that makes Gerard’s stomach almost drop, he does what he does best and ignores the fuck out of it. It’s still there, but he’s not going to look at it.

He kisses Frank, and they get in the car.


	12. week eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to staples day! it's the day before halloween here in the good year of 2020 and much like this spooky season, this chapter comes with both treats and tricks.
> 
> this is a cryptic and seasonally relevant way to say most of this is good but the end hurts. and i'm sorry for that. i really am. i uh. i just wanna reiterate that the end is happy. it gets resolved. i promise.
> 
> i love you all. thank you so much for the support. special thank you to projektgerard for letting me never shut up and also for providing incredible dialogue (aka, particularly for scripting the pretzel eating conversation). also for being an incredible beta. i say this every week, but thank you <3
> 
> please let me know your thoughts. please dont yell at me too much. i hope you like it. again, i promise this has a purpose and is important for character growth. i love you.
> 
> social media handles are all metaleaterz

Gerard is quiet on Monday night. Sometimes this happens, sometimes he gets in his head and doesn’t say much, and Frank’s gotten used to it enough that he knows to move in a normal way when this is going on. Frank doesn’t ask about it, usually, because it means something’s on Gerard’s mind, and he’ll talk about it when he’s ready to.

At least, this is what Frank’s hoping. The absolute debacle last week that resulted in Gerard saying he was going to try and be more open about things isn't something that Frank can expect to happen overnight, but he’d like to think that this is, at least, something that Gerard might keep in mind, given all the shit going on.

They’re out. They went to go see a stupid movie that Frank can’t remember the name of. There had been approximately one other person in the entire theater and so they’d headed to the back to make out for the entire time, the audio of the movie somewhat adequately disguising the stupid sounds that Frank never seems to be able to stop himself from making.

The problem with the two of them, sometimes, Frank thinks, as they head out of the movies, disheveled and pink-faced, earning themselves a glare from the other patron of their particular theater, is that he and Gerard move at a fucking breakneck speed in nearly everything. This is perfectly fine in most circumstances, but in instances like this, when they’re in semi-public and Frank, for some reason, is so turned on he’s dizzy with it and Gerard is murmuring stupid, hot encouragements under his breath and onto Frank’s skin, and then afterwards Frank has to spend ten minutes in the bathroom swearing and struggling to get the jizz off of his pants, sometimes he wonders if they should rein it in.

That’s the logical part of his brain talking, though. The part that worries about what other people think. It’s not a strong part. He knows he doesn’t want to stop.

Gerard, aside from how he’d picked up the talking in the theater when Frank had finally managed to shut up, is quiet now. It’s kind of late, they’d gone out after work in an attempt to get some time together without anyone else around. It seems like now that Mikey knows, he’s constantly _aware_ , and it’s harder to be discreet about things when Mikey isn't hesitating to be loudly annoyed about them every chance he gets.

Frank wouldn’t do this in regards to Mikey and Ray, but that’s not the point.

They’re walking back to the car afterwards, and Frank ventures, “Are you okay?”

Gerard blinks, almost starting, like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he says, and the chances of them being the victims of a hate crime seem to be fairly low, because Gerard reaches for Frank’s hand and twines their fingers together. “Just… I don’t know. A lot on my mind, I guess.”

Frank lets that sit for a beat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Gerard shakes his head. “Not really. I don’t know what I want to say.”

“Okay,” Frank says, slowly. He hopes it comes out reassuringly. “Well, I mean, when you _do_ want to, you know where to find me.”

Gerard is quiet for another moment and then he says, “I know,” and he squeezes Frank’s hand, so Frank feels better about whatever might be going on.

He thinks it might have something to do with the call Gerard got on Friday during their shift. He’d been in the middle of checking someone out when his phone had rung – which was weird, because Gerard never has his phone with him during his shifts – and Frank had been sitting next to him already because he’d been bored, but Gerard had lost his shit.

“Fuck,” he’d said, and then looked at the customer apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I just – Frankie, can you…?”

“Yeah, go,” Frank had said, slightly bewildered but willing to jump in, and he’d finished out the transaction and had continued to sit at the register until Gerard had come back.

Gerard hadn’t elaborated on what happened, despite Frank wanting to ask him, despite Frank’s suspicions that the call had been from Cartoon Network. He’d come back looking slightly stressed out, two spots of color high on each cheek from the cold but the rest of his face pale, and he hadn’t really responded to Frank’s questions.

Not that Frank had asked that many. He knows he _could_ , he knows Gerard would at least not completely shut down in response to anything Frank might ask the way he does with most other people, but he doesn’t want to stress his boyfriend out any more than he _has_ to.

He’s let it sit since then. He’s been crazy fucking busy this week, and it feels like he’s barely seen Gerard. Frank thinks this is the longest time he’s gone spending multiple consecutive nights in his own bed since he and Gerard started fucking – and subsequently dating, but the time since that official label has been a lot shorter in length – so if he’s being honest, on top of having a million things to do for school and band practice every day and a gig this weekend and like fourteen thousand papers to write and having to work three times this week, he’s not sleeping well by himself.

That’s fucking lame. He knows it is. It’s been, what, two months? Frank’s clingy as shit, though, and he knows it, so of course he got used to being able to tangle his limbs up with Gerard’s on a nightly basis and derive comfort from his heartbeat, even on nights when neither of their brains will shut up. Frank likes to think he can provide that for Gerard too.

Frank’s lying on his bed on Tuesday night, staring at the ceiling and putting off the endless items on his to-do list, when his phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” comes Mikey’s voice, sounding slightly muffled, lots of background noise. “I’m at a party right now. I know it’s a Tuesday. Ray’s here, say hi, Ray.”

“Hi!” comes Ray’s voice, his tone far bouncier than normal, and Frank laughs.

“Hi, Ray,” Frank says. “Are you drunk?”

Frank can imagine Ray sort of shrugging and flipping a hand from side to side as he replies, “Uh, not really? A little bit.”

“I’m driving tonight,” Mikey tells Frank, then continues, “Anyway, I was calling because I miss you. We don’t hang out anymore, probably because you’re always being gross with Gerard.”

Mikey pauses, as though he’s giving Frank room to protest. “I’m not gonna argue with that, you’re right,” Frank says into the gap in the conversation, and he hears a little puff of air through the phone that he can recognize as Mikey laughing. “I miss you, too.”

“I know,” Mikey says airily. “Let’s do something tomorrow. Just us.”

“Okay,” Frank replies, grinning. “What do you want to do?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Mikey says. There’s a loud noise in the distance, and then Mikey continues, “Oh, shit, some guy’s swinging on the ceiling fan. I gotta go, this is gonna be interesting. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mikey,” Frank kind of sing-songs, then he makes a kissing sound into the speaker.

Mikey goes, “Ugh. Gross,” and hangs up.

In the silence following the end of the call with Mikey, Frank feels disappointingly alone. The circumstances are these – he can’t go over to Gerard’s, because if he does he won’t get any of the work done that he needs to, and if he doesn’t get that done he’ll be fucked over for school, but _god_ , does he want to not be by himself right now.

Part of that is wanting to put off doing his stupid math homework, and he thinks he could find significant reasons to not do it if he could manage to distract Gerard from his own projects, but Gerard has seemingly been working on something with some consistency and fervor recently, so Frank feels a little guilty interrupting him.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss Gerard, though. Frank makes it a whole fifteen minutes with his silent phone sitting on his stomach as he still stares at the ceiling, before he caves and calls Gerard.

Gerard answers almost immediately. “Hi!”

“You sound happy,” Frank says, by way of greeting.

“You don’t,” Gerard replies. “How’s your homework going?”

Frank sighs. “It’s not. I’ve lost higher brain function.”

Gerard hums a little laugh, and he sounds farther away than normal, does he have speakerphone on? Frank hears the scratching of a pencil somewhere nearby. Gerard replies, “You know, I’d ask you to come over, but I don’t want to… cause you more stress or something.”

“You don’t cause me stress,” Frank replies. Phone to his ear, he swings himself into a sitting position and wanders over to his desk, surveying the fuckload of shit he needs to finish. “I don’t know. I fucking _wish_ I could come over. I just know I’m not gonna get anything done if I do.”

“I get it,” Gerard says. His voice is soft, something almost tempering in the tone of it, and Frank looks away from his work. “You distract me, too.”

“Am I distracting you now?”

There’s a pause. “Yes,” Gerard replies, carefully, like he’s trying to keep his focus. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Frank tries to put the most oblivious tone he can into his voice, but he knows Gerard can see – hear? – right through it. “I’m just talking to you.”

“You said you couldn’t come over,” Gerard says after a beat. There’s a question there, but he’s not asking it.

“I might,” Frank replies, his pulse jumping in his throat, “be persuaded to change my mind.”

“I see.” He can hear the smile in Gerard’s voice when he continues, “Maybe if we both finish what we’re doing –”

“Yeah,” Frank interrupts. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

The ride to Staples on Wednesday is one of the weirdest and most awkward that Frank thinks he’s ever experienced.

For one, he got a ride with Gerard. It isn't like they’re pretending like they aren’t dating anymore, so driving to and from work together has become a regular occurrence. Frank had finished three of his halfway completed projects last night in record time and had come over to Gerard’s and stayed the night, so it makes sense that they’d be driving together.

Unfortunately, Mikey also needs to go to the same place, so here they are, all in the car together. An additional unfortunate fact is that Frank _staying the night_ is the absolute politest way he can describe the events that had transpired, and Mikey had made sure to make his absolute distaste for the situation very known.

“You’re both fucking _disgusting_ ,” Mikey had said when they’d come into the kitchen in the late morning, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a disgruntled expression at the sight of the two of them hanging all over each other. “Do you _know_ how loud you are?”

“Do I – what?” Gerard had asked, super cleverly, and Frank had burst into laughter at the sheer weirdness of the conversation.

“Don’t make me go into detail,” Mikey had replied. He’d narrowed his eyes at them, and then continued, “But let me just say this. I could’ve lived a long, peaceful, and fucking incredible life without ever hearing the words,” and here, Mikey had adopted a surprisingly good, if somewhat breathy, imitation of Gerard’s voice, “ _oh my god, Frankie, you’re so good, I love you_ coming out of my brother’s mouth as _fucking_ soon as I walked in the door.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gerard had said finally, hands covering his face, and Mikey had stared at him impassively.

“If you’re gonna keep that up,” Mikey had replied, his tone stiff, “I will help you move out and help you pay rent so I do not have to ever hear this shit again.”

“You know, that might be nice,” Frank had said, and Mikey had looked like he’d wanted to throw something.

“This isn't a joke, Frank. This is my life. That shit is _seared_ into my brain. Do you think being in the basement soundproofs anything? I’m gonna tell you now that it doesn’t. _Especially_ not with how much _you_ fucking talk!” Mikey had pointed at Frank in an accusatory way here, and Frank had rolled his eyes and gotten on his tiptoes to get some mugs down from the cupboard.

Now, Frank’s in the backseat of Gerard’s car and he fucking resents that fact. He hadn’t _argued_ with it, particularly given the trauma Mikey had experienced last night, and the fact that Mikey’s a good nearly half a foot taller than Frank, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling stupid. Frank doesn’t know what it is about the backseat – or if it’s more to do with his stupid height complex – that makes him feel so acutely like a little kid, but he always gets that sensation.

Mikey doesn’t seem _mad_ about what had happened last night, but Frank can never be sure, so as Gerard drives, Frank asks, “So… do you still want to hang out later?”

“Me?” Gerard asks.

“No, Mikey and I are doing something.”

“Oh, okay,” Gerard says. He pauses, then says, “I’ll see if Ray wants to…”

“Yeah, I do,” Mikey answers as Gerard trails off. “You know, I think it’ll be survivable since I won’t have to tolerate the two of you in the same space. Which, I mean, I’m happy for you both, but _god_ , I’m going to have to leave the state if this keeps up.”

Frank rolls his eyes and says, “Cool.”

Before he has time to say anything else, they’re pulling into the Staples parking lot and clambering out into the cold air. For some reason, the parking lot is surprisingly full, so Gerard had to park farther away than normal, and they end up running through the lot towards the store. Frank grabs onto Gerard’s hand as they go, and when Gerard laughs at the way they’re running through the lot with their hands linked, Frank says, his breath coming out in foggy puffs and streaming away from him through their motion, “You’re supposed to hold hands while crossing the street, everyone knows that.”

“I’m not holding your hands and I’m not running,” Mikey calls from behind them, where he’s walking, albeit somewhat quickly, towards Staples.

“Your loss!” Frank shouts back at him, and he truly believes that, because he and Gerard make it inside the store far more quickly than Mikey does and are already as warm as they can get inside the refrigerator that is Staples by the time the automatic doors slide open at Mikey’s approach.

The remainder of the morning staff leaves as soon as everyone gets set, Frank already planning on bothering Ray at Tech Services today instead of doing any of his actual work, and as he heads over to Ray’s counter he hears Gerard saying, “Hey, Brian, can I talk to you for a second?” and heading towards the back of the store.

“Hi,” Frank says, a hair more distractedly than he’d originally been intending, watching Gerard while hopping up to sit on the counter next to where Ray’s elbow is propping up his head. “How are you?”

Ray groans. “I don’t know, dude. I had to get up _way_ too fucking early this morning for how late I stayed up last night.”

“Aw,” Frank says, half-sympathetically, reaching out to gently pat Ray’s cheek. “Grandpa had a big night.”

“Shut up,” Ray replies, sitting up straight so he can lean out of Frank’s reach. His tone is irritated, but he’s grinning. He does look tired, Frank thinks, and he contemplates heading back to PMS to annoy Mikey and give Ray some space. Frank decides against that when Ray continues, “Your boyfriend’s older than me, anyway.”

“Oh my god, by like, three months,” Gerard’s voice says. He’s walking past again, clearly done talking to Brian, who’s following a bit behind Gerard, looking tense about something. “Jesus, Ray, I’m not a senior citizen yet.”

“Hey, if I called you a senior citizen, I’d be calling myself one, too,” Ray says, somewhat defensively. “I just wanted to point out that Frank shouldn’t be calling me old when he’s dating you.”

“You’re both old,” Frank announces, cutting both of them off. “You officially become old when you can legally drink. That’s the law.”

Ray is about to respond when Brian interjects, “Frank, leave him alone. Go to PMS.” Frank reluctantly hops off the counter and traipses across the store to see Mikey.

They have the most dead day that Frank thinks they’ve ever actually had during his employment at Staples; it’s so bad that when they’re all going to lunch, Brian waves them off and says that only Ray and Gerard need to come back, since _there’s no point in paying half of you to sit around and do nothing_.

“Well, that worked out,” Mikey says at Subway, midway through bringing a stolen cucumber slice to his mouth. “We were gonna go fuck shit up anyway. Gee, can we use your car?”

Gerard grimaces, and Mikey talks over him before he can refuse. “Let me remind you that Frank and I both rode with you today, and that Ray has a perfectly functional car, but that I’m not on the insurance, so I can only drive yours.”

“Are you planning on _needing_ the insurance?” Gerard asks, bewildered. Mikey doesn’t answer, so Gerard eventually rolls his eyes and digs around in his pocket for the keys before tossing them to Mikey across the table. “What are you guys gonna do?”

Frank shrugs. “No idea.”

“Okay, before we do anything, I have a rule,” Mikey says.

They’re in Gerard’s car, sitting in the back of the parking lot of a mall, and the space and what Frank’s done in the front seat with the owner of this particular car is giving him a lingering sense of weird in his chest, but he is resolutely refusing to let that show. He thinks he might die if he has to explain that to Mikey.

“Yeah?” Frank asks, reaching down to the cavity in front of him and digging around in his bag for a little plastic bag of illegality, along with the box of paper and his grinder. He sets it on the console between the seats of the car and continues, “What’s up?”

Mikey watches Frank grind the weed and fully roll a joint before he finally speaks again. “I know you fucking babble when you’re high, but I don’t want to talk about Gerard. At all.”

Frank opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what he wants to say, so he closes it. Mikey cracks the windows, and Frank offers him the joint and a lighter.

“That’s non-negotiable,” Mikey continues, flicking the lighter. He takes a handful of puffs and then says, “I’ve already heard enough to last me a lifetime. And, honestly, I wouldn’t care about talking about your boyfriend if he wasn’t my brother, but… that fact is still weird to me.”

“That’s fair,” Frank replies meekly after a beat. Mikey passes the joint to Frank, setting the lighter on the console with the rest of their supplies. “So, what, do you want to pretend like it’s six months ago or something?”

Mikey shrugs. “Sure, does that make it easier?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Frank says. He takes a couple hits, and says, between them, “God, just, I don’t know how to break it to you, Mikey, but we’re _not_ letting you in the band.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Mikey groans, shoving Frank. “Not _that_ part of six months ago, you asshole!”

“Your audition was really bad.”

“You’re a dick,” Mikey replies, but he says it with fondness, and Frank grins.

They smoke until the joint is gone and they’re sufficiently high. Mikey gets bored sitting around for this sort of shit, so as soon as they’re done, he’s getting out of the car and telling Frank to hurry up so that they can wander through the mall and look at weird shit.

“Mikey, slow down,” Frank calls after his friend, who’s already halfway across the parking lot. “Your legs are like, a million miles longer than mine.”

“Watch out, if I get in there before you, I’m locking the door behind me,” Mikey replies, and Frank frowns, breaking into a run. He’s only a little bit sure Mikey’s kidding.

This is something they’ve done for as long as they’ve been friends. In the grand scheme of things, it isn't that long of a time, but Frank and Mikey have been hanging out for the better part of a year, having just tended to run in similar circles for the entirety of that time, and they’ve done shit like this a couple of times. Frank never fully remembers the details of how everything goes once it’s all said and done – the smoking always makes his brain a little fuzzy on the finer points of how time passes, but he usually leaves whatever excursion he and Mikey go on with a strange item that he didn’t need to purchase and a new appreciation for how his friend’s brain works.

The first few minutes in the mall are a haze to Frank. He can’t remember _shit_ , not even right after it’s said, so events pass in little jumping waves.

He and Mikey are in Barnes and Noble, Mikey pointing vaguely at a _we’re hiring_ sign and saying “Look!” They’re wandering through the biographies section; Frank points at a book with someone he vaguely recognizes on the front of it, it’s a black and white picture, he thinks this person is on a coin?

“Look at this fucking dude,” he says, and Mikey, who’d been walking along the aisle, stops and turns around to see what Frank’s pointing out.

“Oh, my god, Mr. President,” Mikey replies, reaching out and stroking the man’s beard in the picture. Oddly, he has no mustache. “He looks so stately.”

“What a man,” Frank says, and Mikey nods in agreement. That might be bullshit. Frank can’t remember a single thing Abraham Lincoln did, other than get assassinated.

“Sucks that he died during a play,” Mikey comments, as though he’s reading Frank’s mind. “I’m not reading your mind.”

“What?” Frank asks. He drops the book. “How did you know I was thinking that?”

Mikey blinks. His eyes are huge behind his glasses. “You asked me if I was reading your mind.”

He had?

“Yeah, you did,” Mikey says. “I told you, you babble when you’re high. I think you just think you’re thinking things, but you’re not.”

“What… Mikey, you said think too many times in that sentence.”

“I’m wise,” Mikey says, and Frank nods fervently. Of course, Mikey’s wise. He’s the wisest person Frank knows. “That’s not true,” Mikey counters. “You know Ray.”

“I love Ray,” Frank says. They leave the store, Mikey grabbing an application on their way out. “If you guys ever break up, I’m coming for him. Oh! Mikey, look. Pretzels.”

Frank points vaguely in the direction of one of those little kiosks in the middle of the walkways that always sell food. He isn't even particularly hungry, but he’s never wanted anything in his life more than he wants a pretzel right now. Well, that’s not necessarily true. Gerard could –

“No!” Mikey interrupts, loudly enough to make Frank jump. “I told you I didn’t want to hear about Gerard!”

“Oh,” Frank says, frowning. “Was I talking again?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “You never shut up. Don’t talk about Gerard to the pretzel guy.”

To avoid the issue, Frank sits on the bench farther down the walkway and waits for Mikey to return with pretzels. There are weird lights in this mall. The ceiling looks like it’s made from strange, vaulted structures of glass, like the pyramid outside the Louvre. Frank had seen a picture of that in Barnes and Noble, he thinks it was on a postcard? The night sky is barely visible through the glass, because of the lights lining the ceiling, it’s nothing but a reflection of the walkway below, but Frank cranes his neck up to watch the movement in the glass anyway.

He sees a mirrored version of Mikey walking towards him in the ceiling, a pretzel in each hand, and he tips his head down to see straight ahead. Real Mikey wordlessly hands Frank a pretzel, and Frank wants to hug Mikey for getting this for him.

“You’re making a weird face,” Mikey says, frowning at Frank. “Are you good?”

Frank shrugs. “This pretzel is as big as my head.”

Mikey takes a bite of his, then, after swallowing, says, “Way bigger than your brain, though.”

Frank pauses. “What does that mean? What did I do?”

Mikey looks at Frank like he should know the answer to this. For once, Frank isn't being stupid, he’s just high.

“You’re just gross,” Mikey says finally, and Frank frowns at his pretzel.

“Oh,” he says. “Did you get any mustard?”

Frank doesn’t remember the answer to that, but the next thing he’s fully aware of is sitting in a massage chair at Sharper Image, staring at the ceiling and listening to Mikey have an existential crisis next to him.

His throat is dry. He should’ve stopped to get some water.

“I mean, fuck, man, I don’t know what I wanna do with my life,” Mikey is saying, and Frank turns to look at his friend, the rolling mechanisms in the chair making his head move forwards and backwards in a rhythmic motion.

“Dude,” Frank says, “you’re fucking nineteen. You don’t need that shit figured out right away.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mikey says. He frowns. “It’s just… everyone else seems to _know_ , you know?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Frank offers. Mikey shrugs.

“That’s because you could do anything.”

“So could you!”

Mikey reaches over unexpectedly and grabs Frank’s hand. “You’re one of my best friends. I love you.”

“I love _you_ ,” Frank replies, squeezing Mikey’s hand back. “You’re not mad at me?”

Mikey looks at Frank for a moment before asking, “Did… did you do something I should be mad about?”

Frank doesn’t know how to respond, so he sort of stumbles out, “I – your – uh, Gerard.”

“Oh,” Mikey says. “Well, I guess if it had to be one of my friends, you’re the best option.”

They hold hands in the massage chairs until a harried-looking employee comes over and says that they need to start their closing process, so _if you’re not going to buy anything, I’m going to have to ask you to leave_. Frank suddenly understands how the teens that Brian kicks out of Staples every so often feel, and he reluctantly gets out of the chair to head out.

It’s not very late, in the grand scheme of things, but it _is_ late enough that the mall is closing and unless they want to get kicked out, they’re going to need to voluntarily leave now in order to hold onto a bit of dignity.

They smoke again in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of Gerard’s car, but this time it’s just cigarettes, because according to Mikey, “Gerard’ll kill us if we crash his car.”

Frank flicks some of the ash off of his cigarette and says, “What, he won’t be worried about us dying?”

“Oh, yeah, of course he would,” Mikey says. “But if we died, he’d probably bring us back to life to kill us again for the sheer inconvenience we caused by wrecking his car.”

As if on cue, Mikey’s phone rings.

“Speak of the devil?” Frank asks.

Mikey shakes his head. “It’s Ray.” He flips open his phone and says, “Hi,” a just _slightly_ different quality to his voice than how he’d talk to someone else, and Frank grins upon hearing it.

“Yeah, we got kicked out,” Mikey continues. “Are you guys done?”

“I wanna say hi,” Frank hisses, and Mikey rolls his eyes.

“Frank wants to say hi,” he says, the words coming out sullen and flat, and he hands Frank the phone.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Frank draws the word out as long as he can, and his heart does a little jump when he hears Gerard laughing in the background. “How are you?”

“I’m great, Frankie,” Ray says, his words also revealing his struggle to clamp a laugh down. “We’re driving, where are you guys?”

Mikey takes the phone back, apparently having been able to hear both ends of the conversation. “We’re in the mall parking lot,” he tells Ray, then asks Frank, “What do you want to do?”

Frank shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s go watch a movie or something.”

“Sick,” Mikey replies, then says to Ray, “I think we’re going home. My house, that is. Are you taking Gee?”

Frank can’t hear Ray’s reply, because unlike Mikey, he doesn’t have super senses. Mikey nods, even though Ray can’t see him, and says, “Okay. Cool, we’ll meet you there. Drive safely.” He hangs up.

Frank just looks at Mikey for a minute, until Mikey scrunches up his eyebrows in response. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks Frank.

“You _care_ about him,” Frank teases, and Mikey rolls his eyes.

Not refuting Frank’s claim, Mikey just says, “Shut up, get in the car.”

Grinning, Frank does.

Frank, as has become typical, has a gig on Saturday.

Sometimes it’s insane to him that this is something that’s _normal_ now. He’s always _wanted_ this, but some part of him has always thought of it as something unattainable. That isn't to say that feeling of his dreams being too difficult to achieve would ever stop him from going after something he wanted – Frank is nothing if not fucking relentless – but some days he still can’t believe how lucky he is.

He feels lucky all the time, lately. He’s doing really well in school, his college plans for next year make him jittery with excitement every time he thinks about them, he’s in a band that he loves, and he gets to kiss Gerard anytime he feels like it.

That last one makes Frank feel fucking giddy every single time he thinks about it, so he kisses Gerard whenever he has the opportunity to.

He hasn’t had the opportunity very much this week. He doesn’t know what it is, but he thinks he hasn’t been this busy for a couple of months. It had felt like every time he’d finished something on his ever-growing list of shit to do, three more items were added.

Ultimately, Frank is just really fucking glad that it’s the weekend, and at least he has a break from school and work and the pressure of being functional for a couple of days. His friends and his boyfriend are coming to the gig tonight, and it’s bigger than they’ve had for a little while, and he’s fucking excited.

It’s so good. It goes so fucking well. Frank comes off the stage feeling fucking electric and hot around his throat from the way Gerard had been looking at him every time their eyes had locked, and it’s all he can do to not say _fuck it_ and get out of there right away.

Realistically, though, he has to stay around for the rest of the night so they can pack up their shit and sell whatever merch they can and talk to the kids who came to the show. Frank loves this part, he loves connecting with the – he doesn’t want to say _fans_ , but there are some familiar faces, and he loves knowing that the art that they’re putting out is having an impact, even in a small way.

The night winds down enough so that Frank, ever the opportunist, announces as they stand in a little cluster against one of the walls, “I’m going out for a smoke.” Frank taps Gerard on the back of the hand, the thumb of which is tucked into one of Frank’s pockets, and asks, “Do you want to come with?”

It’s not really a question. Gerard says, “Yeah, of course,” and unhooks himself from Frank’s pocket so they can walk with some ease.

“Gross,” Mikey says as they walk away, seemingly more out of habit than any real emotion, throwing a balled-up napkin in their direction. “Don’t take too long. We drove together.”

Unfortunately for Mikey, Frank is acutely aware that he and Gerard have always used smoke breaks as a chance to carve out a tiny bit of alone time while surrounded by other people, so they end up in the alley outside the shitty little club that Pencey had booked. Gerard lights Frank’s cigarette for him, like he always does, and they stand out there together for a while, Frank’s heart still beating rapidly from the adrenaline of the night, now mixed with the way Gerard makes him feel.

“You were great,” Gerard says, breaking the silence, and Frank blows out smoke and turns to grin at him.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

Frank wants to kiss Gerard, so he does, and he’s dizzy with the emotions buzzing through his veins, and the next thing he knows he’s laughing as he’s backed up against the wall.

“Fuck,” he says, gasping it out in the night air, pulling away from Gerard for just a moment. “Can we go?”

Gerard hesitates for a moment, seemingly considering the fact that he’d driven with Mikey and Ray. Frank interrupts his thoughts to remind him, “I drove here, just me. My car – my shit’s already packed up, I’m good to go.”

“Oh,” Gerard says, “Okay, yeah, let’s – hold on.” He steps away, then sticks his head in through the side door of the club, yells something that Frank can’t really hear, and makes a half-hidden tossing motion that Frank can only assume is enabling his keys to fly through the air towards Mikey.

Gerard shuts the door and heads back towards Frank. “I’m good, let’s go.”

They get distracted several times on the way to the car, and by the time they’re actually on the road, Frank is so worked up that the only thing keeping him focused on driving is that if he doesn’t rigidly pay attention to what he’s doing, he’s going to crash his car because he’s so turned on. That’s so embarrassing of a concept that Frank doesn’t even want to think about it being something that could legitimately happen, so he obeys the rules of the road more strictly than he has since he took his driver’s license exam. Gerard, to his credit, is doing nothing to purposely distract Frank, he’s just sitting in the passenger seat, but he looks so fucking hot that Frank wants to pull over and suck his dick right now, and it’s only the inconvenience of doing that in the car that stops him.

He parks in front of Gerard’s place, and they get out of the car, Frank coming around to walk with Gerard, but it takes them fucking forever to get inside, despite the cold. They keep stopping to kiss and stumble their way towards the house, rushing out _I love you_ s between kisses with Frank working on getting his cold hands under Gerard’s millions of layers as Gerard struggles to unlock the door.

It’s one of those times when there’s no reason to act like they came back here for anything other than what’s happening now, so Frank does his best to kick off his shoes and get out of his jacket by the door, leaving them wherever they fall, determined to not stop kissing Gerard for any longer than he has to. Gerard is doing the same thing, his hands have been preoccupied with shedding his outer layers and before they come back to Frank, Gerard flicks one of the light switches, and the lamp across the room turns on, casting a warm light across the space.

Frank, focused on Gerard’s mouth, his own hands twisted in the front of Gerard’s shirt, suddenly feels both of Gerard’s hands come back to his body, one on his left hip and the other on the side of his neck. It’s like Frank can’t stop himself from saying whatever stupidly honest thought that comes to the forefront of his brain, he pulls his mouth back, away from Gerard’s and he says, his eyes closed, “Oh my god, I want you so fucking bad right now.”

“Just right now?” Gerard asks, his tone teasing, and Frank opens his eyes. Gerard’s mouth is slightly open and his cheeks are pink and his eyes are so dark and Frank loves him so much that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“All the time,” Frank replies, even though it was a rhetorical question. Gerard kisses him again and Frank starts to walk backwards, releasing his grip on Gerard’s shirt in favor of bringing his hands down and starting to work at Gerard’s belt. What can he say, he’s good at multitasking. Gerard pulls away again to catch a breath and Frank uses this as an opportunity to say, “I want you all the time, I think about you all the _fucking_ time, I can’t _think_ right with how badly I want you to fuck me right now.”

“Fuck,” Gerard says, the word mostly breath, and he kisses Frank again, harder. Then they’re at the bed, the edge hits the back of Frank’s legs, and he sits down hard. His hand lands on something made of paper, the corner of which is surprisingly sharp and pokes Frank in just the right – or, he supposes, _wrong_ – way that he lets out a stupid little yelp and jerks away from both Gerard and the paper to see what the fuck happened.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asks quickly. He’d been in the middle of getting on the bed as well, sort of halfway kneeling on it, and he sits down on that side to pause while Frank gets his shit together. “What –”

“I got – fuck, I got poked by your,” Frank replies, grabbing the little group of papers and picking them up, intending to put them to the side, “letter.”

“Oh,” Gerard says, and there’s something in his tone that gives Frank a weird feeling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I’d left it there. It must’ve just hit at the wrong angle, I guess. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Frank glances at the letter again, somewhat distractedly, and the logo in the top corner jumps out at him. “Wait.”

“Shit,” Gerard says, like it’s a reflex, and Frank looks at him sharply. Gerard winces. As if to amend his involuntary response, he continues, “I didn’t… mean that.”

“You didn’t mean _what_?” Frank asks. “Shit?”

“Yeah, just,” Gerard says. He looks like he wants to grab the letter from Frank, but he stops himself. “Look, Frankie, I was gonna tell you.”

“They sent this on Monday,” Frank says, quietly, looking at the date on the top of the paper. “They – it’s been _days_ , when were you going to tell me that they offered you the job?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard replies after a moment. He’s doing that thing again, where he goes quiet when he’s asked about shit, and Frank can already feel irritation licking at the inside of his chest. “I just – I _was_ gonna tell you. I didn’t want – I don’t want things to change.”

Frank feels like he has whiplash from the sudden shift in what’s happening, so much that he has to take a moment to collect himself and gather the facts. What’s established is this: Gerard got an official offer letter from Cartoon Network on Monday and Frank can only assume that if they’d been the ones on the phone on Friday that they’d called him then to offer him the job verbally, Gerard had said last week that he was going to try and not keep shit to himself anymore, and it’s Saturday night now and Frank is just now finding out about this massive news.

He doesn’t know what to say, how to break things down and understand. He clears his throat and asks, “Do you – how. Why would it change?”

Gerard looks like he’s struggling to articulate exactly how he feels, and Frank is trying so fucking hard to be patient, but it’s really testing him right now. Gerard is like a shitty engine, he starts and stops several times, but finally he grimaces and tugs a hand through his hair and says, “Look, just. Shit was – neither of us were around this week, and it sucked.”

“Okay,” Frank says slowly. That doesn’t mean anything dramatic to him, just that when they make time for each other it’s more important. He doesn’t voice any other thoughts, though. He wants to hear what else Gerard has to say.

“And I know I should’ve said something –”

“Yeah, you said you were gonna try,” Frank interrupts, and he tries not to wince at his own words, because he’d really been trying to stop himself.

Gerard casts him a look of irritation, and that makes Frank’s own annoyance kick up in his chest again. “I _know_ ,” Gerard replies, “and I _am_ , it just doesn’t happen right away.”

He sighs. He looks like he wants to say something more.

“Just say it,” Frank hears in his own voice, and Gerard, who had been looking at the floor like it had personally offended him, turns back to Frank.

“I’m… fucking terrified that I’m gonna fuck up,” Gerard says, finally, after a moment.

“Fuck up how?”

“I don’t know. The job. Us. One of them. I feel like I can’t have both.”

Frank feels somehow both jittery and frozen, his heart beating like it wants to kick its way through his ribcage. “You’re not gonna fuck up,” he says, quietly, but he knows Gerard can hear him. He pauses, then continues, “Did I do something that made you feel –”

“What?” Gerard asks, almost sharply, like he can’t believe Frank had even considered that. “No, you didn’t do anything, I don’t want – I don’t want you to think that you did. I don’t _want_ it to get fucked up.”

It’s starting to feel like they’re about to break up. Frank doesn’t know what to say next, so he stays quiet for another moment.

Gerard, given the chance to fill the silence, says, “I know you’re gonna ask why I think it could get fucked up and it’s just – I’m gonna be gone a lot more and you’re gonna… your shit with the band is kicking up and then you’ll be in college and I don’t want…” He pauses, frowning. Frank waits. “I don’t want to hold you back. And I don’t want to… I don’t know, let you down somehow.”

Frank can think of approximately a thousand rebuttals to that. They range from creating a presentation on how he’d never feel that way about Gerard, to shouting about how that’s stupid to think, to breaking down how he thinks this is what Mikey had talked about a while ago, about Gerard’s self-worth issues, but he doesn’t think bringing any of this up right now would help very much. All Frank really knows is there was a space in his life before he and Gerard met, one that was empty but in a way that he didn’t realize until it had been filled, and the way he feels about Gerard is like a constant thrumming in his chest, like a second heartbeat.

He doesn’t want to lose that, but he’s scared that he might.

What’s worse, he thinks, would be if it shattered irreparably. This, now, is just talking about fears and worries. He doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want them to turn into that with each other.

“You wouldn’t,” Frank says, finally responding to what Gerard had said. “You’re _not_.”

Gerard sighs, tension in his body that he doesn’t seem to know what to do with, and Frank hesitates for a moment, but then reaches out and takes his hand. They sit for a moment, not speaking.

Frank says, “Would it… would it make it easier if.”

He feels like he’s choking on his words. Gerard looks at him, his eyes huge, and asks, “What?”

“If we were less serious,” Frank finishes. His voice sounds fucking weird, like he’s about to cry. He might be, he doesn’t know.

“Oh,” Gerard manages. He’s always worn his emotions so openly on his face that Frank can see exactly how he feels. Gerard looks like he missed the last step on a staircase, like he was jolted downwards and it caused his heart to jerk around in his chest and he’s catching his breath afterwards.

Frank desperately wants Gerard to say _no, I don’t want that, I love you and I want to be with you exactly as much as I always have_. But he knows, he _knows_ , he knows that Gerard won’t let himself have this, not unless he figures it out for himself. He’s slow and painstaking about things he wants and he has to fully process shit before he can commit to anything and Frank loves him so much that, fuck, it might make him feel like he’s being eviscerated with the uncertainty, but he’s willing to give Gerard that time.

“I really don’t know,” Gerard finally answers, and Frank wants to go dig a big hole and just sit in it.

He hears himself saying, “Do you want to take some time to think about it?”

“Not really.” Gerard lets go of Frank in favor of covering his own face with both of his hands. “But I’m gonna have to, right?”

Frank laughs a little bit, it just escapes, he doesn’t know where it comes from. “Yeah, that would probably help.”

Gerard lifts his face out of his hands. “I can’t believe we came here to fuck and this happened.”

“It’s okay,” Frank says, and it’s not, he feels like he’s about to lose the feeling in his limbs. He reaches out and touches Gerard’s face, and Gerard turns towards him and leans into the touch. “It’ll be okay.”

Gerard kisses the palm of Frank’s hand, then the inside of his wrist, and then he moves forward and kisses Frank on the mouth.

They have sex. It’s not like it’s been before. Frank thinks he’s incapable of doing anything without putting his entire heart into it, and that’s something he thinks can be a strength and also a flaw. It feels like mostly a flaw right now, because after, when they’re still lying in bed together, Gerard’s fingers tracing slow little patterns over Frank’s shoulders, Frank wishes he could turn that shit off.

“Are you staying?” Gerard asks, breaking the silence. “Tonight, I mean.”

“Do you want me to?”

Gerard pauses, then says in a tone that makes Frank aware that he _does_ remember when he said it before, “Frankie, I always want you to stay.”

It fucking physically hurts Frank to sit up, then, but he does, starting to get dressed, and Gerard doesn’t make any move to stop him. He just watches, uncertain, like he has been for a while.

“I want to,” Frank says carefully, “but I think… I think if we’re going to try and give you some space and time to – to think about shit, then maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Gerard says, after a long moment. “I guess I’ll… see you on Monday, then.”

“Yeah,” Frank replies, and he smiles at Gerard, but he’s afraid that his emotions are too easy to read, too badly disguised. “I’ll see you then.”

Gerard walks him out and they kiss again and it’s slow and intimate but almost hesitant, in a way. He leaves. He doesn’t look back.

He makes it all the way home before he breaks down in the front seat of his car. He’s out there for an hour before he can go inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeahhhh i'm sorry for that hahaha what the fuck


	13. week twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof. fuck. okay.
> 
> SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER. what the genuine hell. thank you guys so much for coming along with me on this journey. especially since the last one HURT. i'm still sorry for that, by the way, but it had to be done. for plot purposes, for character growth, etc etc etc. i hope you forgive me because of this one <3 the next chapter after this is an epilogue, so the main story arc does conclude in this chapter.
> 
> GOOD NEWS THOUGH - i am not done with staples after this! i have plans to continue with oneshots set within the staplesverse for i literally do not know how long because there are a lot of ideas! basically, the storyline will continue loosely and will be told through oneshots of stuff happening over the years for the staples boys. we have lots of exciting things planned for them, which i am very excited about :D
> 
> love love love love as always to my beta, projektgerard, to the subway boothers, to everyone on twitter, and to all of you <3 thank you for being patient with me while i got this chapter out. it is a long one and this was a stressful week.
> 
> ONE LAST WARNING THERE'S SEX IN THIS CHAPTER. if you want to skip it, scroll down when you see "It's true for me, too." and resume on the new paragraph that starts with "It takes a beat..."
> 
> you're all angels. please come say hi to me! i am metaleaterz on all social media <3

By the time Monday afternoon comes around, Gerard feels like he’s emerging from a cave.

He hasn’t left his room in two days, other than for infrequent and weirdly timed trips to the kitchen. These have been few and far between, partially due to Mikey’s wordless and opportune food drop-offs every few hours, so Gerard has only really done this during times when Mikey is either asleep or out of the house. That being said, for the parts of the weekend that Gerard hasn’t spent watching a bowl of leftover soup slowly rotate in the microwave (which, to be fair, has amounted to less than five minutes total), he’s resolutely devoted to being sad.

Being sad is an activity that takes up all of Gerard’s attention when he’s really putting the work into it. He has a very delicate balance to maintain. It’s a cycle. First comes the wallowing, followed by the self-hatred, and then there’s the relentless pursuit of distraction, the slight high of _maybe I’m starting to feel better_ , the sad jerking off, the brief, post-orgasm thought of _I should call him_ , and then he crashes back into wallowing again.

Fortunately for Gerard, he’s been trying to spend the majority of his time over the weekend in the _relentless pursuit of distraction_ phase and has been trying to devote a lot of time to his artwork. _Un_ fortunately for Gerard, a lot of that artwork has ended up looking like Frank, which immediately makes him jump to the _sad jerking off_ phase.

He almost calls Frank so many times that he loses track of the number. He’s starting to feel kind of fucking pathetic about it. What, Gerard can’t go two days without calling his boyfriend? What kind of a leech is he?

A small part of his brain keeps trying to remind him that part of being in love with someone is actually wanting to be around them and that’s a _good_ thing, but for the thought process Gerard is trying to force himself to go through, it’s fucking detrimental.

He hasn’t made much progress on that. The problem with Gerard’s stupid brain is that when he’s sad about shit, unless he’s forced to, he hates thinking about it in a lot of detail. Maintaining the abstractness of his negative emotions always makes him feel like he can get past them, but he’s starting to think that this contributes to his issues with fucking never dealing with shit.

He has to deal with it this time. He _has_ to. Which is why he can’t call Frank until he does.

Mikey comes down the stairs on Monday afternoon and pokes Gerard, who jumps.

“Jesus, Mikey,” he says, looking up from his desk at his brother, who’s standing next to him with his hands shoved in his pockets. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I know,” Mikey says, and Gerard can hear a gentle tone in his voice that he’s not used to. It makes him want to hide. “Look, I hate to bother you, but we have to go.”

“Oh,” Gerard says. “It’s Monday?”

Mikey nods. “It’s Monday.”

Of course, it’s fucking Monday. Gerard had lost track of the time, he’s been taking short, weird naps over the past two days because he doesn’t sleep well without Frank and if he doesn’t lie in bed _trying_ to go to sleep he won’t _think_ about Frank and if he doesn’t think about Frank he won’t cry or jerk off or both at the same time.

Mikey knows this, of course. He’d never say anything about it, because he knows Gerard won’t want to talk about it, but Gerard also knows that his brother is very aware of how the last two days have gone, and not just because on Saturday night when Mikey had come home he’d found Gerard lying on the floor and had had to ask him why he looked like he’d been crying.

Gerard had managed to explain what had happened, and Mikey had pulled him to his feet and given him a tight, fucking steadying hug. They’d sat on the couch together and Mikey had put on a movie that neither of them had absorbed a single word of, Gerard staring loosely at the clock on the tv stand and watching the minutes tick by as Mikey had glanced at him worriedly every few minutes.

Mikey had understood. He hadn’t pushed Gerard to come to any sort of decision, the same way Frank hadn’t, and Gerard doesn’t think he deserves either of them.

He definitely doesn’t deserve Mikey putting up with his shit now, but here he is, gently reminding Gerard that it’s time to go, and that it might be his last week at Staples, but he still has to go in.

“Fuck,” Gerard says, the word coming out more like a hiss than anything else. “Do I have time to take a shower?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says after glancing at the clock. “I came down early, actually, just in case.”

It’s a mark of how fucking wrecked Gerard must look that Mikey doesn’t make fun of him for his want to be clean. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror until the tail end of his time in the bathroom, avoiding his own gaze and doing his best to make himself feel slightly normal as he washes his own hair for the first time in two months and hates it. He misses Frank. When he finally _does_ look at himself, it’s rough, but it’s better than it was.

He comes out of the shower and Mikey hands him a cup of coffee in a travel mug and says, “I’m driving,” without giving Gerard room to respond either positively or negatively.

Gerard’s jacket is still on the floor where he’d tossed it after he’d come in with Frank. He hates thinking about that. He picks it up and puts it on.

He feels like he’s fucking torn. He looks out the window as Mikey drives them to Staples and talks more than he usually does, just to fill the silence. They get there without any weird delays – though Gerard sure could have used some – and Mikey cuts the engine after parking farther away than usual, despite there being open spots by the doors.

“Are you going to be okay?” Mikey asks quietly. Gerard can see his brother looking at him out of his periphery.

Gerard doesn’t really know how to reply. Half of him wants to see Frank so fucking badly that he feels like he could burst. The other half wishes he’d called in sick and could stay home until he figures his shit out.

“Yeah,” he hears himself saying. “I’ll be okay.”

Confident words from someone who doesn’t know _shit_ about themselves or how they’re going to handle anything going forward, but Gerard gets out of the car anyway. Frank’s car is already there and Gerard tries not to look at it, he tries not to look at anything on his way to the breakroom to put his shit in his locker.

He sees Frank sitting with Ray behind the Tech Services counter instead of at PMS, and their eyes meet. Gerard feels like his fucking chest is being torn open, he wants to run but he doesn’t know if the motion he wants is forwards or backwards.

Frank gives him a tiny, careful, breakable smile, and Gerard says, “Oh,” out loud.

He can’t do this. It sucks. It fucking _sucks_.

“Come on,” Mikey says, softly but firmly, grabbing Gerard by the elbow and hauling him to the breakroom.

Gerard feels like he can’t breathe right, but he sucks down a lungful of air anyway, and does his best to get his shit together.

He manages to keep his shit together for exactly three quarters of his shift.

It gets to the point where Gerard can’t put off succumbing to his nicotine addiction for any longer, so he asks Ray to cover the registers and meanders to the back door without looking towards PMS, where Frank had eventually moved, fiddling with his lighter in his pocket as he walks. There’s a 50/50 chance that Frank will come outside too, and Gerard can’t decide if this is something he wants or not.

He goes outside and leans against the wall and doesn’t even smoke for a couple of minutes, he just shuts his eyes and sucks in the cold air as if it’ll do something to shock him into figuring out his problems, but his mind is, as ever, unhelpfully indecisive.

“Fuck,” he hears himself saying, and he fumbles with his pack of smokes with his cold fingers to try and get at least one constant going in his life.

The door opens to his left, and Gerard doesn’t look at it.

He lights up. He hears, “Can I bum one?”

“Yeah, of course,” Gerard replies, and he looks at Frank then, and his chest aches. Frank’s bouncing the keys on his necklace vaguely between his fingers, as if this is something he’s doing without thinking about it, and Gerard looks down at the charm attached to one of the keys and wants to reach for it.

He doesn’t. He hands Frank a cigarette and then extends the hand still holding his lighter, flicking it once he gets closer, cupping his hand around the end of the cigarette to shield it from the wind. Frank’s hand automatically comes up at the same time, as though he’s going to do it too, and their hands touch.

Frank takes his hand away. Gerard sees a wisp of smoke and takes his hands away, too.

“Sorry,” Frank mutters, and steps back. He’s standing on the other side of the door.

Gerard simultaneously feels like he has nothing and everything to say. It’s like he can’t sort through what he _wants_ to tell Frank, simply because he wants to say so much.

“I miss you,” he finally says, and Frank turns to look at him.

“Oh,” Frank replies, and the look on his face, which had been carefully maintaining neutrality, shifts into something far more fragile. “I miss you, too.” There’s another moment of silence, and Frank asks, somewhat tentatively, “Have you been sleeping?”

Gerard, not wanting to admit to it, shrugs halfheartedly. Frank sighs.

“I look that bad, huh?” Gerard tries weakly for a joke, but it doesn’t look like Frank finds it funny.

Frank steps away from the wall on the other side of the door and comes around to stand closer to Gerard, and the proximity but lack of contact is making Gerard feel like how he’d felt before the two of them had been anything to each other but coworkers, but somehow ten thousand times worse.

It might be because he _could_ close the distance, he could do it, he could figure out what he wants and tell Frank and then it would be okay. Technically, they’re not broken up, and the dilemma right now is whether it would be better, because of circumstantial shit, to be less serious. If that would be better for Gerard mentally, or some shit like that. Gerard thinks that either way, whatever he decides, he’d still be allowed to _touch_ Frank, but he doesn’t know if he wants to if it’s going to devolve to just sex.

He can’t even say if it’s just sex _again_. It was never just sex between them. There was always something more.

Gerard misses the casual touches, he misses the surety of how he feels around Frank, he misses the way Frank looks at him when he thinks Gerard can’t see.

Frank reaches up and touches Gerard’s face, softly, then tucks his hair behind his ear. He smiles at Gerard, a little ruefully, a little sadly, and says, “No. You washed your hair, you look good.”

Gerard kisses him.

He’d really been trying not to. Gerard knows that his heart and his dick and his brain are all intertwined, and he’s going to get himself confused, but he can’t _not_ kiss Frank, not when Frank’s looking at him like _that_ , not when the only thing Gerard knows for sure is that he loves Frank more than he’s scared of fucking up his own thought process, and that if he doesn’t remind Frank of that, he’s fucking it _all_ up.

The whole point of this was to _not_ fuck things up. Gerard feels like he’s fucking it up anyway with his hesitation, with his inconsistency, with his need to take forever to make decisions.

He feels like he’s fucking it up more when Frank pulls back with a little gasp and says, “No, Gee, we can’t – this shit’s gonna… not right now, okay?”

Gerard knows that when Frank says _not right now_ , he’s not talking about the time of day or their location.

“Yeah, fuck,” he says, and Frank’s still only pulled back a little bit, their faces still close together, his hand still on Gerard’s cheek. “Fuck, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Frank replies, voice soft. “It’s okay. I wanted it, too.”

Fuck. Gerard hates this. Frank steps back, creating a space between them again.

“I’m – I _am_ thinking about it,” Gerard tells him, even though he hasn’t been, not actively. “I’m not gonna just… leave you hanging.”

“I know,” Frank says again, offering Gerard a small smile. “I know you need time.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s easy.” Gerard doesn’t specify who it isn't easy for. He and Frank both know it’s been shit on both sides.

“No.” Frank takes a drag of his cigarette. “It’s not.”

It’s Tuesday night, and Gerard’s on his fourth play in a row of _Disintegration_ by The Cure when Mikey comes stomping down the basement stairs and unceremoniously turns the music off.

“Hey,” Gerard protests, sitting up from where he’s been lying on the floor, scowling at his brother. “What was that for?”

Mikey crosses his arms. “If I have to listen to this sad fucking album one more time tonight, I’m going to take it away from you and break it. Don’t make me do that.”

“Fine,” Gerard sighs, then flops back down on the floor. “What _else_ do you want?”

Mikey comes and sits next to where Gerard is lying. “I wanna talk to you. I wanna see how you’re feeling.”

“I’m processing,” Gerard replies. “Maybe I should be left to it.”

“Maybe leaving you to it hasn’t gotten you anywhere so far,” Mikey says, his tone somewhat reproachful, and he nudges Gerard’s shoulder with his socked foot. “Dude, I’m worried.”

Mikey rarely says it so straightforwardly, so Gerard props himself up on his elbows to stare at his brother. “Why?”

“Why? _Why_ , Gerard? You and I both know the answer to that.”

Gerard looks up at the ceiling instead of replying to Mikey, just for a minute, as if it can give him the solution to his problems. The ceiling, as always, remains silent.

Despite the ceiling’s lack of response, Gerard knows what Mikey’s getting at. He knows he’s never had a reaction this notable to shit happening in a relationship _ever_ , and he and Frank didn’t even break up. Gerard’s sure _acting_ like they did, though, and he knows Mikey can tell. He can also tell that he’s starting to fall into the same patterns of behavior that he does when shit is edging towards particularly bad, and that he hasn’t actually done that for a while, so it’s understandable that Mikey’s concerned.

He’s not depressed right now, though. He’s just sad. There’s a difference.

“Look,” Gerard begins. Maybe if he tries to explain where the knot in his brain is, the tangle that’s making it impossible for him to sort out what he’s supposed to do, Mikey can help him unravel it. “I just – I don’t know what to do.”

Mikey says, simply, “Do you love him?”

Gerard takes a deep, shuddering breath and sits up completely, bringing himself into a sitting position. Mikey’s sitting with his back against the foot of Gerard’s bed, watching his brother’s motion, and Gerard mirrors Mikey’s position, coming to sit next to him with his legs extended in the same way.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, once he’s seated and he doesn’t have to look directly at Mikey’s face when he answers, because if he has to say it while maintaining eye contact he thinks he’s going to lose his composure. “I love him so much it hurts.”

Mikey’s quiet. Then, “Why does it hurt?”

“He’s not here.”

It’s like Gerard just needed someone to ask him the right questions, and Mikey’s always been so good at that. He’s fucking _startlingly_ good, in a way that makes Gerard surprised that he’s able to come up with answers so quickly, so honestly.

Gerard continues, “I miss him.”

“Why didn’t you tell him about the job?”

They’ve gone over this, but Gerard knows Mikey always has a point when he asks questions like this. “I didn’t – I didn’t want things to change.”

“Change is good,” Mikey says, “but it’s also scary.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Gerard fervently agrees, and Mikey nudges Gerard’s knee with his own, comfortingly. “I know it’s good. For me. I _know_ this is something I _want_ , you know?” Mikey hums a little bit in acknowledgement. “But… fuck, I just – I don’t know how to h… I don’t know how to not ruin it. To not fuck _something_ up.”

“Why do you think you’re going to fuck it up?” Gerard doesn’t have an answer, so Mikey continues, “Gee, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you _haven’t_ fucked anything up. You did exactly what you were supposed to. You got a degree in something you love. It’s not your fault that shit’s worked out like this so far.”

Logically, Gerard knows that Mikey’s right. The idea of having _this_ , though, having a job that he wants and is actually qualified for _and_ having Frank seems unattainable, impossible, like he’s asking for too much and if he tries to have more than one good thing he’s going to somehow ruin both of them.

“He loves you, too,” Mikey says. Gerard knows that, but Mikey probably thinks he needs to be reminded. “I don’t think he’ll ever stop.”

Gerard actually turns to look at Mikey then, sure that he’s joking, but Mikey looks completely serious. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not,” Mikey says. “He’s looked at you the same way since day one. I always kinda thought that this would happen.”

“What, that I’d be stupid about it?”

“No, you idiot.” An edge of exasperation creeps into Mikey’s voice. “I mean you and Frank. I was never surprised that you got together, you know I was only mad because you didn’t tell me anything. And how many times do I have to say that you haven’t ruined shit? I know you think you have, but you _haven’t_. You’re not _going_ to, if you start _talking_ to people.”

It pains Gerard to say his next words, but he grimaces and says, “You’re right.”

“I know.”

“Don’t get smug.”

“I’m not!”

Gerard rolls his eyes. He sighs. Then, he asks, “Mikey, what am I supposed to do?”

Mikey picks at the edge of his thumb nail and asks in response, “Do you _want_ to be less serious with him?”

“No,” Gerard says immediately. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“I don’t think he can, either,” Mikey replies. “I think it would just hurt for both of you.”

Mikey’s right, again. Gerard hasn’t seen Frank outside of work since Saturday night and he feels Frank’s absence like a hole in his chest. He knows that it’s probably good for them to have some space from each other, but not like this. Not when the _reason_ is what it is.

Quietly, Gerard says, “I don’t know what to do,” even though he does. He just wants to hear Mikey tell him.

Mikey starts to get up from his seated position, and he pauses when he’s on his knees, Gerard still sitting on the floor in the same spot as before. He kisses Gerard on the forehead, briefly, like it’s for good luck before Gerard goes on a dangerous quest.

Mikey stands, and Gerard looks up at his brother, who always seems to know everything, even though he’s supposed to be coming to _Gerard_ for questions. He hasn’t, not for a long time.

“Yes, you do,” Mikey says. He pats Gerard on the head in the weirdly meaningful way that only a little sibling can and leaves.

Mikey turns on the music as he leaves. _Lovesong_ starts to fill the basement again, more softly than before.

Gerard is on his own. The good thing, though, is that Mikey’s right, as usual. Gerard _does_ know what to do.

After their shift on Wednesday, it’s like Gerard can’t put it off any longer.

He hasn’t been _trying_ to draw it out. He knows what he has to do and what he has to say. It’s just that he’s been trying to figure out exactly _how_ to say it, and so he’s been bouncing it around in the back of his mind since he and Mikey had had their conversation on Tuesday night. Half-scripted ideas are floating around his consciousness, terribly structured sentences and pretentious metaphors that would make Frank laugh in his face, not in a nice way, and because of that, Gerard hasn’t been able to bring himself to call him.

That changes after Wednesday.

Brian calls meetings with everyone but Gerard, and the consensus afterwards is that Mikey and Frank got fired, and that Ray was asked to stay but he declined because he doesn’t want to be the only one left after Gerard leaves, too. This isn't a surprise; they’d known that they were approaching the end of their initial three months at Staples, and Gerard doesn’t think anyone’s particularly sorry to say goodbye to the store.

It _is_ a bit sad for this to be ending, he thinks. A lot of important shit happened here, _because_ of here. Despite the fact that they’d all known this was temporary, it still feels like too tangible of an end.

Too much is ending, making way for too many beginnings. Gerard, after learning that everyone’s last day would be Friday, instead of just his, comes to the rather jolting realization that without Staples, he isn't going to have a structured excuse to see Frank anymore.

This means that if he doesn’t start to move, Gerard’s going to have to force himself to take even bigger steps than he’s already planning (if he’s being honest, they’re not big on a grand scale, just for him), and that thought is enough to make him pick up the phone.

It’s getting late. It’s nearly midnight, and he’s been home for an hour, and he should’ve just talked to Frank at Staples, but he hadn’t wanted to in front of Mikey and Ray. Gerard knows that’s stupid and illogical; they would’ve left if he’d asked them to, and he knows that Frank would’ve wanted to speak to him anyway, it’s not like they’re in a _fight_ , but Gerard wants to do all of this with just the two of them.

He calls Frank.

Frank doesn’t pick up right away, the phone rings five times before the line connects, and Gerard is already mourning the death of his relationship and any happiness he and Frank could’ve had in the future and the presence of love in his life because if Frank isn't answering that means he must be _dead_ or he’s moved on and doesn’t want Gerard anymore when –

“Hey.”

Gerard feels like his throat isn't working for a minute. “Hey,” he says, carefully, and he can almost feel Frank holding his breath on the other end. “How – how are you?”

Frank laughs, a real one, and he says, “I got fired today, Gee.”

“Oh, so you’re not doing well? I can give you some alone time if you need me to,” Gerard replies, sneaking a little undertone of teasing into his voice, and Frank laughs again, and fuck, he _missed_ this.

“Shut up,” Frank says. “How are _you_?”

“I’m good,” Gerard says, and he actually means it. “Well, sort of. Almost. Maybe? Can I – can I see you? I want to see you.”

There’s a pause.

Finally, Frank breaks the silence. “Are we going to talk about it?” He doesn’t ask _are you ready to talk about it_ , but Gerard knows that’s what he’s trying to get at.

“Yes,” Gerard says. “I want to.”

“Okay,” Frank replies after a moment. “I want to see you, too, but just – if _you_ want to.”

“I do.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m… home alone tonight.”

“Great,” Gerard says, the words coming out weirdly, kind of breathlessly. Is he nervous? Of course, he’s nervous. “I’ll – I’ll be there soon.”

“Be safe,” Frank says, and there’s a weird moment of silence. Then, Frank continues, “I’ll unlock my door for you.” _I love you_.

“I will,” Gerard replies, his breath coming in shallow little puffs. “Thank you.” _And I love you_.

He changes out of his work clothes, into something more regular, a shirt he thinks Frank likes. He puts on his shoes and his jacket and leaves. He sticks a note on Mikey’s door before he leaves the house, writing out _going to Frank’s. I know you won’t see this until later but wish me luck anyway._ He hopes that writing that note itself will be enough to have Mikey’s level-headed conversation abilities lending themselves to him as he heads out of the house.

Gerard drives. More carefully than normal. It’s fucking laborious, focusing on anything, but he keeps his thoughts on getting his heartbeat to calm down and his breathing to be steady, because he’s so fucking nervous that he barely knows what he’s doing.

Gerard knows Frank unlocked the door, but he taps on it lightly before opening it anyway, just to give some kind of warning. “Hey,” he calls as he steps through the door, “it’s me.”

Frank appears, sitting up on the couch, where he’d been apparently lying. “Oh, thank god, I was worried it was someone here to murder me,” he says, and Gerard laughs a little bit at that.

Frank is quiet, getting up from the couch to come around and hover nearby while Gerard methodically takes off his jacket. He takes off his shoes, too, for good measure. There’s snow on them, he doesn’t want to track that across Frank’s floor. He knows how Frank doesn’t like that.

When he’s done, he looks up. Frank’s arms are crossed tightly, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he’s worrying at his lip ring between his teeth. He stops when Gerard looks at him, and says, “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too,” Gerard replies, and Frank relaxes a bit. “I wanted to talk to you the whole time.”

“I know,” Frank says. Gerard doesn’t ask _how_ he knows. They understand each other. Frank turns and starts to walk back to the couch, and Gerard follows.

They sit down. Frank’s on one end with his back against the arm of the couch, his legs crossed on the cushion, and Gerard on the other end, facing forward, because if he doesn’t look at the person he’s about to try and have real communication with, sometimes it goes more easily.

A small part of Gerard’s brain is about to convince him to take like fifteen minutes to try and compose himself and to structure exactly how he wants to start what he wants to say to Frank, and Frank must be able to see it on his face, because he starts talking.

“Did I tell you about this dream I had last night?” Frank begins, his voice only betraying a hint of nervousness. Gerard turns to look at Frank and shakes his head, just slightly, and Frank grins at him quickly. “Okay, so, um, it was me and Mikey and my mom, and we were walking in like, a forest or something? Mikey was totally flirting with my mom, by the way, it was really gross, but that’s not the point. Anyway, we’re walking on this little path and there’s sticks and rocks and shit everywhere and it’s hard to see so I trip and fall onto this –”

“Frank,” Gerard interrupts. The word bursts out of him, like it’s involuntary, like if he doesn’t speak, he’s going to lose his chance or his nerve or his potential eloquence. Frank stops talking, his mouth slightly open, and Gerard continues, not sure exactly where he’s going, “I don’t want to be less serious. I’m stupid in love with you.”

Okay. Maybe his potential for eloquence wasn’t exactly fulfilled. Gerard resolves to be undaunted by that.

Frank closes his mouth but seems to be holding off on any other response until Gerard speaks more.

Both encouraged and intimidated by this, Gerard says, “Listen, just – okay. I know I’m an idiot who takes forever, and I know I never have the answers for you that you want or that you deserve, but sometimes I’m… fucking slow, okay? Like, you know – this is fucking embarrassing. You know how long it took me to realize that you even liked me, right?”

Frank smiles a little. “I have an inkling. I don’t think you ever told me, though.”

“Just – fuck.” Gerard runs a hand through his hair. “It was like… five fucking minutes before we kissed. That’s how long I – it was like, a month.”

“You’re so observant,” Frank says, but despite the sarcasm, his tone is gentle. “You look like you want to say more shit.”

“Yeah,” Gerard says. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if that’ll help him to get his focus back, to find the track again, and continues, “Frankie, I wasn’t – I’ve never been… unsure about you. How I feel, I mean. Sometimes I’m – I get in my head and I think that there’s no way shit gets to work out. It’s like when people talk about getting good shit and having to pay a price for it, you know? Like, when you have a genius idea, but you destroy yourself in the process of making it happen.”

“You don’t have to pay a price for _this_ , Gerard,” Frank says, his voice still at a low volume. “Who do you think you owe something to, the universe? The only person involved that you’d have to give shit to is _me_ , and that’s a trade-off. It’s like… I give you part of myself and you give me part of you and that – it fills up the empty spaces. But we don’t _owe_ each other anything. I just want to be on the same page.”

“I know,” Gerard replies. “I know you do, I understand. I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do earlier.”

“It’s okay.” Frank shrugs. “It’s an exercise in patience.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

Frank frowns. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true,” Gerard replies, slightly bewildered. “I haven’t done shit to deserve all that you and Mikey and Ray put up with but… I mean, for some reason you’re still around, so.”

Frank is looking at Gerard like he’d just grown an extra head. “What, you think you don’t deserve to have people around you who _care_ about you and help you through things and don’t push you to do shit that you’re not ready for? Oh, sorry, Gee, I’ll be more of an asshole, then.”

Gerard doesn’t reply for a minute. He picks at a string coming off the hem of his shirt, then he says, not yet looking up at Frank, “So you’re not – you’re not mad… about…?”

“About this?” Frank asks, sounding surprised. “No, I’m not mad, I was never – did you think I was mad?”

“I mean, I thought maybe. You know, to some degree.”

Frank laughs a little bit, but it’s like a soft little sound of interest and surprise rather than actual amusement. “I would’ve told you if I was mad. I’m known to be vocal about that.”

There’s a pause, then Frank continues, “Look, I just – I didn’t want to push you to do something you didn’t want to. Big shit’s about to happen for you and I didn’t – I don’t want to add to the stress of that, you know? I don’t think I explained this right when we were talking about it before. I know scaling things back isn't something that either of us would’ve _wanted_ , but if it was better for you, that’s something I would be okay with, you know?”

“I know,” Gerard says, and he wants to find a way to tell Frank how he’d felt when they were speaking less, because he’d thought that if that’s what it would be like to be less serious, he would be miserable all the time.

“Here’s the thing, though. You make me feel like myself,” he says finally. “I like who I am when I’m around you. It’s like – you know when you said the parts of us we give to each other are supposed to fill the empty spaces? I didn’t think my space was that empty. Before. But it was, and it fucking _hurt_ to think about it being empty again, and not because there would be a lack of _something_ but because it wouldn’t be _you_. Am I making sense?”

“Yeah,” Frank says softly, and Gerard has to turn away from him, because he has that look on his face again. “I know how you feel.”

Looking at the ceiling, tilting his head against the back of the couch, Gerard says, “I listened to The Cure a lot. Mikey threatened to break _Disintegration_.” He shuts his eyes.

“Wow, you were really sad, huh?” Gerard feels Frank move, the cushions on the couch shifting, and then, much closer to his ear, he hears, “Gee, look at me.”

He does. Frank is right next to him, not touching him, but looking like he wants to.

“Did you hear me earlier when I said I was stupid in love with you?” Gerard asks, and Frank touches his face, smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone. It’s gentle, feather-light, and Gerard’s heart is aching.

“I heard you,” Frank replies. “You’re not stupid.”

“The rest of it’s true, though.”

“I know.” A pause. “It’s true for me, too.”

It’s like the first time they kissed, then, because Gerard doesn’t know who moved first, but he’s so fucking aware of Frank, Frank’s mouth on his, Frank’s hands always moving in Gerard’s hair and on his chest, Frank’s body shifting from next to Gerard on the couch to in his lap, that’s such a fucking good spot for him, Gerard doesn’t ever want him to leave.

Sometimes it’s like Gerard experiences the passage of time weirdly. Today, for example, he doesn’t know if it’s because so much is happening that it feels like time is jumping forward, or if they’re legitimately moving faster than they have before. Gerard thinks that it’s a surprisingly short amount of time before Frank starts grinding down on his lap and making little noises into his mouth, but he doesn’t know if this is because there’s a lot going on or if they’d just been missing each other.

Gerard stops thinking about it when Frank pulls back a little bit, he always does this, trying to catch his breath, and Gerard kisses him other places besides his mouth, getting his hands under Frank’s shirt and starting to pull it off. Frank, utilizing the opportunity he’s gained by freeing his mouth, says, “Fuck, Gee, I’m – fuck, can you…?”

Frank trails off, his words ending in a fluttery little gasp when Gerard gets his shirt off and then bites at the delicate skin over his collar bone, and Gerard kisses the spot afterwards, soothing the red mark that had appeared rather quickly.

“What?” he asks, his face against the side of Frank’s neck now, fucking relishing the rapid pulse he can feel through Frank’s skin. “Can I what?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Frank replies, one of his hands tight on Gerard’s arm like he’s bracing himself. He continues, quickly, his voice mostly breath, his hips rocking almost involuntarily in a way that makes Gerard feel like he’s going to lose it, “You’re _such_ an asshole, I missed you, I love you, I’m impatient, I want you to fuck me.”

Gerard blinks. “Frank, I’m not just gonna –”

“I know that, I _know_ ,” Frank interrupts. “I’m just – fucking. We gotta move faster, motherfucker.”

“God, you’re so needy,” Gerard says, somewhat dryly, and Frank’s hand, in his hair, tightens purposefully in annoyance.

“Let me remind you,” Frank replies, kissing Gerard briefly before disentangling himself from Gerard and starting to stand up, “you said, not fifteen minutes ago, that you’re stupid in love with me and don’t want to be less serious. I _am_ a needy fucker, and you signed up for this.”

“Ahh, shit, oh no,” Gerard says, in a sarcastic little voice that sounds almost like a fake, emotionless scream of fear. He gets up to follow Frank, who’s heading over to the bed. “I changed my mind!”

Frank turns around at the foot of the bed and gives Gerard an appraising look. “Tell that to your dick.”

Gerard pauses. “Fair enough.”

Gerard’s dick isn't the only one involved in current events, but he isn’t really intending on prioritizing it. At least, not until he does the best fucking work he can on Frank’s.

He’s not nervous anymore, which is nice. He _was_ nervous to come over and _talk_ , but he and Frank have regularly been having sex for several months now, so Gerard knows what he’s doing. Plus, before he’d even called Frank to ask if he could come over, Gerard had been at least semi-aware that this was a high possibility, so it’s not like he’s unprepared for this situation, and he knows Frank is on the same page as him.

They’re kissing again, their hands working to remove clothes without hesitation or too much struggle. They’re sure around each other, and sometimes Gerard is still surprised at that, at the fact that Frank knows him in a way that can both make him feel safe and also make embarrassing noises come out of his mouth. And Gerard _is_ making embarrassing noises, because it seems like before he realizes it, they’ve gotten their clothes off, he’s leaning back on the bed watching Frank trail his fingers and his mouth downwards, and then _fuck_ , his dick is in Frank’s mouth.

Frank is fucking amazing at sucking dick. God, Gerard wishes there were awards that could be given out for the sheer skill in dick-sucking that Frank has, he wonders if it would be stupid to get a shitty little trophy with _Thank You For The Blowjob_ engraved on it, like the little ones that are given out for kids’ sports teams? He thinks he might get weird looks if he went into a store and asked for that, though. He thinks he might also get weird looks if anyone else ever heard the stupid shit he says now, with Frank’s hands and mouth paying too much attention to him.

“Shit, oh my god, Frankie,” Gerard says now, “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

Frank laughs, low in his throat, and Gerard both hates and loves when he does that, because _fuck_ , it feels good but if Frank doesn’t stop – fuck. Frank’s hand on his thigh is like a vice, it’s grounding, and Gerard, his hand in Frank’s hair, tightens his grip involuntarily and then decides to call it.

“Wait, fuck, stop,” he manages, and Frank does, looking up at Gerard questioningly. “Just – okay, I’m losing my mind, I can’t.”

“Okay,” Frank says easily, and he grins at Gerard, eyes bright and mouth wet, and then he kisses Gerard’s hipbone and moves back up to kiss his mouth. Gerard sits up to meet Frank halfway as he moves, and somewhere along the line they flip around so that Gerard is on top.

“Hey,” Frank says after a moment, his voice coming out in a little stuttering gasp that Gerard finds fucking incredible, Gerard mouthing at the skin of his neck, “remember what I said earlier? About how we gotta move faster? Yeah.”

Gerard could be an asshole and reiterate some shit about how needy Frank is, but his head is fucking buzzing with a million thoughts, most of them circular and yet somehow jagged, bouncing around with words repeating over and over again, words like _fuck_ and _Frank_ and _I love you so much my chest feels like it’s constricting_.

Instead, Gerard just rushes out, “Yeah, yeah, okay,” and kisses Frank again before pulling away to haphazardly dig through the drawer on Frank’s bedside table for lube and, having some foresight for once in his life, a condom, so that he doesn’t have to repeat this searching process again.

He lubes up his fingers and apparently takes too long, because Frank says, “Oh my god, hurry up.”

“So demanding,” Gerard replies, and he knows he’s being an asshole about it, so he kisses Frank again before he puts a finger inside him.

If Frank deserves an award for sucking dick, then, judging from his reactions to what Gerard is doing, Gerard thinks he might deserve at least an honorable mention for fingering. He’s not gonna fuck around and be modest about it; he has big hands and long fingers and he knows what to do with them. Plus, he fucking loves the swearing and the little gasps and moans he can get out of Frank every time he adds another finger, every time he hits that sweet spot, it turns him on like fucking nothing else and he’s dizzy with it.

By the time Gerard has three fingers in Frank, he’s getting a lot of response along the lines of _fuck shit please oh my god Jesus fucking shit Christ Gerard_ while he does his best to leave marks with his mouth all over Frank’s body, and Frank’s pushing back on his hand, asking for more without saying it, so Gerard knows he’s ready. Still, before he does anything else, he asks, “Are you –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank interrupts, his constant talking cutting Gerard off before he can even finish his sentence. “Fucking – Gee, please.”

Gerard always kisses Frank before he does anything new, so he does, and then he takes his fingers out and, ignoring Frank’s noise of disappointment at their absence, proceeds to put on the condom – which is fucking hard, he’s so turned on that his hands are shaking – and get his shit together with the lube.

He lines up and he kisses Frank again after Frank lifts his legs, fucking obligingly, and then, starting to move, he hears Frank’s voice, small like he has too much happening to speak at a higher volume, a constant stream of swearing and asking for more and Gerard fucking loves it.

When Gerard is fully inside, Frank says, “Fucking _move_ ,” his voice rough, and Gerard does.

It isn't like this is their first time; they’ve established a rhythm and they’re both good at it. Gerard looks at Frank like he’s never going to see him again, like this is Gerard’s last chance to take in the curve of Frank’s throat and the rosy tone to his skin and the way his eyelashes curl against his cheeks when he shuts his eyes. These delicate little details are a direct opposite to the shit that Frank is saying, his inability to shut up and his continuous _holy shit, Gee, oh my god, you fuck me so good, I love your dick so much, I love you so much, fucking deeper, please, godfuckingdammit_ leading Gerard to do exactly what Frank asks because he _loves_ how direct Frank is, he loves how Frank makes him feel in every possible way. He kisses Frank and says some completely nonsensical shit that he can’t remember the second it leaves his mouth, but he knows it’s something along the lines of _I love you so much_ repeated over and over again like he’s some sort of idiot, but he wants Frank to hear it and know that it’s true.

They’ve been drawing this out for a while, since Gerard came over, and both of them are so worked up at this point that Gerard isn't surprised when Frank’s lifting his hips to give Gerard better access and he _knows_ he’s hitting the right spot from how Frank’s devolved from full sentences to half-formed swears and incoherent sounds. In a moment of clarity, it seems, Frank completes a repeated, consistent motion, one that almost seems to be a reflex to him at this point, and he brushes Gerard’s hair out of his face as best as he can – it doesn’t stay behind Gerard’s ear, so Frank keeps his hand on the side of Gerard’s face, fingers tangled in his hair. Frank’s other hand is pulling one of his legs closer to his chest, but he mirrors that motion on the other side of his body, bringing Gerard’s face closer to his, as much as can be managed with their motion and obstacles of positioning.

“Fucking hell, I love you,” Frank says. Gerard’s so fucking close, but fuck, he wants Frank to come before he does, so he fucks into him just a touch harder. Apparently, that does the trick, because Frank lets out that little shuddering gasp that he always does right before he comes, and then he does without Gerard having touched his dick.

“I love – I love _you_ ,” Gerard manages, belatedly.

Frank, the love of Gerard’s stupid life, graciously allows himself to continue to get pounded for another few seconds, until he says, “Fuck, you’re so hot, I want you to come in me,” so Gerard obliges.

It takes a beat for Gerard to collect himself enough to pull out, but he manages it, taking off the condom and throwing it out before laying back down on the bed with Frank, who’s been watching the whole process after doing some quick cleanup and who immediately fills the space at Gerard’s side for approximately one minute before he says, “Fuck, it’s cold,” and starts to actually get under the blankets.

Now that they’re not fucking, Gerard realizes that Frank’s right and follows suit. They’re quiet for a few minutes, but it isn't the silence that it was the last time, it’s comfortable and intimate and Frank’s index finger is making a soothing little back-and-forth motion on the skin of Gerard’s chest. It’s nice. It feels right.

Gerard’s phone chimes from somewhere nearby; he looks around and sees his pants sitting relatively close, so he does a weird, stretching reach for it in an attempt to not make Frank move. He fails miserably, and it’s embarrassing, but Frank’s stupid little giggle at Gerard’s badly thought out motion makes him continue his horrible attempt, just to make him laugh more.

“Wow, you’re so popular,” Frank says as Gerard’s phone chimes again, just as Gerard manages to snag a finger through one of his own belt loops and pull his pants towards himself. “Did I keep you from a hot date?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “If you’re fishing for compliments, that was horribly structured.”

“I’m always fishing for compliments.” Frank watches with curiosity as Gerard looks at the screen of his phone. “Mikey?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, frowning. “He says _saw your note_ – ‘your’ is spelled u-r, by the way – _hope it went well_. Oh, that was half an hour ago. The ones he sent just now are _you’re_ – still spelled u-r – _not replying, hope you’re not dead_ and then _if you’re not dead, congrats on the sex_. Wow.”

“Can I?” Frank asks, and before Gerard can answer, he grabs the phone. “ _The sex was great_ ,” he says as he types. “ _We are very much in love._ I’m signing it using a little dash, and then _xo, Frank_.”

Gerard looks at the screen. “Why’d you take out the a?”

Frank shrugs. “Ran out of characters. Send,” he says, as he presses the button and hands Gerard’s phone back to him.

There’s another moment of quiet, then Gerard says, “Are we?”

“Are we what?”

Gerard feels stupid for having to ask, but sometimes he just has to be sure. “Very much in love. I mean, I just – wanna make sure you… actually… feel that way.” He trails off weirdly on the end because of Frank’s nearly inscrutable but highly focused expression, and he feels self-conscious.

“Yeah,” Frank says softly, “of course that’s how I feel. I thought you knew that.”

Gerard sighs. “It never seems like it’s – it’s always felt too good to be true.”

“Well, it is true.” Frank, who’s been playing absently with Gerard’s left hand, kisses the back of it, briefly and unexpectedly. “It always has been.”

Gerard feels like his throat is closing up. He doesn’t know how to express to Frank exactly how he feels about him, not in any way different than he already has, not in any way that feels like it matters enough.

To make up for that failing, Gerard pauses, then says, “You’re my best friend.”

Frank laces their fingers together. “And you’re mine.”

It’s fitting, somehow, that their last day at Staples is fucking fraught with peril.

Or at least, it’s busy enough that Gerard feels like he could die at any moment. Honestly, he doesn’t know what it is, it’s a Friday night in January, why would people want to be going to _Staples_?

He feels like it’s a test. This is stupid, though; they’re all turning in their red polos after tonight – literally, Brian had said they weren’t allowed to keep them due to corporate policies and that they should all bring a change of clothes for after closing – so there’s no need to try and see how dedicated to their jobs any of the current staff are.

Gerard, for one, feels absolutely no devotion to the office supply store in question. In fact, he can count the reasons for his positive emotions towards Staples on one hand, and they’re primarily 1. Frank, 2. Ray, 3. Mikey (although Gerard sees him all the time, it’s nice to hang out more), and 4. giving Gerard a last buffer of distraction so that he doesn’t spend every waking minute stressing out about starting his new job on Monday.

At the very least, the presence of a million people in Staples over the course of Gerard’s last six hours being gainfully employed there is keeping him from absolutely fucking spiraling over how terrified he is to start the new shit.

No one _else_ has anything like this going on. Ray’s taking some time off from work to concentrate on school for a while, since his financial aid basically pays for his rent and he’s been saving money forever, Mikey had halfheartedly indicated that he might apply at Barnes and Noble, and Frank’s been booking more shows with Pencey, so he’s decided to put more effort into that for a while.

“You know,” Frank begins thoughtfully at Subway. He holds out a hand to Ray expectantly, who rolls his eyes and bestows a single cucumber slice in the palm of Frank’s hand. Frank looks at Ray with a brilliant smile, one that looks like he’d just been given a solid gold bar, and continues, “One thing I’m gonna miss about Staples is being able to make posters and shit for free.”

“And to think,” Mikey replies dryly, “if you’d just been less fucking obvious about it, maybe you wouldn’t have been fired.”

“Oh, no, he would’ve still gotten fired,” Ray counters. “I wish I could count the number of offenses Frank committed that could’ve _easily_ led to being fired on the fucking _spot_ , but that number’s so high I think we might be dead by the time I finished saying it out loud.”

“No need to be so high and mighty, Toro,” Frank says, sounding somewhat miffed.

“I’m _allowed_ to be high and mighty, I’m the only one who Brian didn’t fire!”

Frank waves a hand wildly in Gerard’s direction. “What about Gee?”

Gerard, who had been in the middle of taking a bite, stalls the conversation with his decision to not speak with his mouth full (he’s not an _animal_ ). When he eventually swallows, he says, “Don’t… try and get me to be high and mighty on your behalf, Brian said he _would’ve_ fired me if I hadn’t quit.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Come on, Gee, I was trying to make you look cooler.”

“I don’t know how _cool_ it is to not get fired from Staples,” Mikey says. He pauses, then continues, “Unless you’re Ray.”

“Aw,” Ray says, smiling sunnily at Mikey, who touches his arm lightly and gently.

“Gross,” Gerard announces, as a reflex. Mikey flips him off.

“You don’t get to talk about gross,” Mikey says. “You’re the grossest person I know. Frank’s gotten grosser since starting to hang out with you.”

“That’s not true!” Frank protests. “I make him shower!”

“Huh,” Ray says, looking at Gerard appraisingly. “Your hair looks nice.”

“ _Thank_ you, Ray,” Gerard says pointedly, glaring at Mikey. “At least _someone_ noticed.”

Mikey sighs heavily. “Conversations like this are why I’m glad we’re not working together anymore.”

Gerard knows Mikey’s words are empty, and that on some level, all four of them are sad about not having this built-in time to be stupid together. Sure, they’ve always been in different sections of the store, but they’d settled into a routine, and it had been nice to be able to have this time. If Gerard is going to allow himself to be a sappy motherfucker, he’s kind of in awe over how much of a difference three months has made in his life, but he isn't crediting Staples for that. If he’s crediting anyone, it’ll be Mikey, for forcing him to get a job and for subsequently getting him to hang out more with Ray and introducing him to Frank.

They go back to work and alternate the rest of their shift with doing their exit paperwork and cleaning out their lockers and putting up with bullshit from customers who seem in-fucking-capable of reading signs and figuring shit out for themselves. Gerard pulls Frank outside for a smoke break, in the loosest sense of the word, because they do waste a single shared cigarette, lighting up but not smoking, letting it burn away slowly while they instead spend their stolen fifteen minutes kissing and talking about nothing and curled into each other’s space to conserve body heat.

By the time they close, stopping to change their clothes in the breakroom before heading out, it almost doesn’t feel real. Gerard has always had a weird sense of disconnect when it comes to big points of transition in his life, like it won’t feel like it’s actually happening until the event has already passed and he’s moved on to other things. But he hands Brian his polo and leaves the store with his bag over his shoulder and Frank’s hand in his and starts to actually get the feeling that things are moving.

In which direction? Towards real life? That’s almost scary.

They’re sitting on the hoods of their cars in the parking lot, despite the cold, Frank complaining about _my fucking hands are gonna fall off, Jesus Christ_ , and making Gerard hold all sorts of shit while he rolls a joint and they start to pass it around.

They’re quiet for a bit. Gerard feels like this has been happening a bit more often. Maybe it’s something to do with getting older. Maybe you get more contemplative when you’re around people you’re comfortable with. He wonders what everyone else is thinking about.

Gerard scoots to the edge of the hood of his car and passes the joint to the other car, where Mikey is reaching his hand out for it. Moving back to his previous spot, Gerard twines his fingers through Frank’s and looks over to his boyfriend, noting the thoughtful expression on his face.

“What?” Gerard asks, hoping to prompt a response.

“Oh,” Frank says, jumping a little like he was startled out of deep thought. “I was just thinking about getting a Staples tattoo.”

The reaction is harsh and immediate. Mikey boos relentlessly while Ray laughs, high-pitched and carefree, and Gerard says, “If you – why the _fuck_ –”

“Shut the fuck up!” Frank half-shouts, trying to talk over everyone else. “Shut _up_! Staples was fucking influential, okay? A lot happened because of it!”

“That’s so fucking dumb,” Mikey says, passing the joint to Ray, who’s still laughing. “You’re an idiot.”

“I am _not_. I’m sentimental.”

“You’re a sap, that’s what you are,” Gerard says, but he knows he’s looking at Frank with a stupidly fond expression. “A lot did happen, you’re right.”

“Well,” Ray says, sitting up from where he’s been leaning against the windshield of his car to pass the joint across the cars to Frank, “I don’t have anything to toast with, but if I did, I’d toast to Staples. For making a lot happen.”

Frank takes the joint. “To endings,” he says. He leans his head against Gerard’s shoulder as he smokes, then tilts his head up and blows it into Gerard’s face.

It doesn’t really feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning.

Gerard waves the smoke out of his face and says, “To new fucking chapters.”

Mikey lets out a loud sigh. “God, you fuckers get lame as hell when you’re high. To better toasts. To love, or some shit like that. To Ray, for putting up with our stupidity.”

Frank, still leaning against Gerard’s shoulder, passes him the joint. Gerard looks at the people around him for a moment, and he gets that feeling in his chest, like he could burst if he thinks about how much love he has for all of them, for _each_ of them, in entirely different ways.

A lot can change in three months.

“Maybe the Staples tattoo isn't such a bad idea,” Gerard says absentmindedly. Frank laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE LEFT AHHHH and then onto the extended staplesverse and a bunch of other projects i have ideas for lmao <3


	14. week thirty-eight, or: epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone <3
> 
> okay. wow. just??? WOW. this has been one of the most insane and fulfilling experiences i've had. honestly, when i started this i didn't even expect to FINISH it, much less for staples to reach the amount of people it has. this really means so much to me, and it makes me feel so much better about my own abilities.
> 
> i have made so many friends from this, and i want to say thank you to every single one of you for reading this and for caring about this stupid little group of idiot boys and my writing about them. thank you, i love you so much. you know who you are.
> 
> the biggest, biggest, BIGGEST FUCKING THANK YOU to projektgerard. you are so wonderful. you let me bother you all the time about this. i love you very much and i am so glad that we are friends. we were before this, but once you became my beta for this i think we got a lot closer and i am so happy for that. staples literally would not exist without you, and i will always, always, always be grateful to you for everything you've done for me and for staplesverse. <3
> 
> thank you to every single one of you for reading, for enjoying, for leaving comments and kudos. if you've said anything about staples on any social media ever, if you've talked about it to anyone, if you've sent the link, if you've just enjoyed it, if you've stuck around to the end... i love you so much. thank you for this. thank you for reading and for liking my work. i love you with my whole heart.
> 
> finally, thank you to frank iero for tweeting about working at staples. you have no fucking idea what came of it, and i hope you never do, but thank you for making the brain worms itch. love you too.
> 
> i'm gonna say it again as well - this is NOT THE END OF STAPLES. oneshots will be continuing within this universe and will be posted as i finish them. i am not ready to say goodbye yet, and i hope you feel the same <3 in the meantime, i do have a lot of other ideas for different mcr fics (not within staplesverse), so i hope you guys are interested in that as well! stay tuned!
> 
> i love you, i love you, i love you.
> 
> i am metaleaterz on all social media <3

“Hi, I’m here to see Gerard Way?”

Frank doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but the stupid people-pleasing voice that he’d inadvertently slipped into had just made his sentence do an involuntary little uptick at the end. He’s irrationally annoyed at himself for it. He _is_ here to see Gerard, there isn't a question about it.

The receptionist, a bored-looking twenty-something girl with red hair, looks up at him with disinterest. “Is he expecting you?”

Frank glances towards the doors into the office, behind the front desk. The presence of a receptionist makes sense, for both security and simply cutting down on the amount of people who might just waltz in and bother the employees, but it isn't like Gerard is particularly high profile, so for him specifically, this feels somehow superfluous.

“Yeah, he is,” Frank says. “I don’t know if you have to… call or something, like if I can’t go in? Can you tell him Frank is here to see him? For… lunch.”

The receptionist – Miranda, according to the little nameplate on the edge of the counter – sighs with barely controlled annoyance and picks up the phone. “I’ll call him. You can wait over there.” She gestures towards a small grouping of chairs and doesn’t wait for him to walk away before dialing on the phone.

“Hi, Gerard, it’s Miranda from the front desk,” Frank hears as he sits down. He raises his eyebrows; the quality of Miranda’s voice has entirely changed. “Yeah, you too! I just wanted to let you know, there’s a boy here to see you.”

Frank resents that. He’s an adult. It’s not his fault he’s short.

“Yeah, he says his name’s Frank.” She pauses. “Okay, I’ll send him back. Thanks!” Miranda hangs up the phone and looks over the counter at Frank. “He says you can go back, he’s finishing something up, but he’ll just need a few minutes.”

“Great,” Frank replies, standing up. There hadn’t really even been a point in sitting down, but he’d appreciated the pretense at politeness anyway. “Thanks for calling.”

“Anytime,” Miranda replies, with a flatness to her tone that tells Frank that she’d really rather be doing anything else than being bothered by him. He respects that. “Do you know the way?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he tells her. “I’ve been here before.”

Miranda gets up to wave a key card in front of a sensor by the door and the door unlocks for Frank.

He wanders through the office somewhat leisurely until he comes to Gerard’s desk. Frank’s always surprised at how organized Gerard manages to keep it, as though he’s choosing to let the chaos in his brain only spill out at home. Everything seems to have its place here, while Gerard’s room at his house is an overflow of his creativity and it’s like his mind has exploded into a physical space. Frank loves it, but fuck, is it easier to see what Gerard’s actually working on here.

Gerard _is_ still working, as he’d said on the phone, and he’s sitting at his desk in a stupidly hunched position that Frank thinks is going to give him premature chronic pain and force him to see a chiropractor in probably three weeks.

Frank taps on the little metal edge of Gerard’s cubicle wall. His nails are short, but they make a surprisingly loud sound. “Hey.”

Gerard jumps a little and turns around, a grin on his face. “Hey! Sorry I’m still – I just need a couple of minutes, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Frank says, coming to sit in the little chair tucked in a corner of Gerard’s space. There really isn't that much room, so he has to take a plant off the seat and hold it in his lap while he waits.

He looks around. There’s a little bulletin board on the wall above Gerard’s desk, and every time Frank comes to see him here, there’s more shit on it. Some items of said shit are sticky notes full of unintelligible scrawl and things that have to get done, but there are also weird little doodles and pictures of Mikey and Ray and Frank, all of them being stupid separately and in groups.

There’s a slightly larger picture of all four of them that someone’s parents, Frank can’t remember who, had taken at Ray’s graduation. Ray’s in his gown still, his cap having disappeared, grinning massively with both of his arms occupied with holding Frank up, who’s hanging on his back like a baby koala, one arm around Ray’s neck and the other holding onto Gerard’s shoulder for balance. Gerard, on the left side of the picture, looks like he was caught mid-laugh, and Frank _loves_ how he looks there, he’s watching the Frank-Ray conglomeration and clearly finding it hilarious. Mikey, on Ray’s other side, has a hand on Ray’s arm and a genuine, brilliant smile on his face. They’re all in stupidly formal clothes and are surrounded by people who they don’t know but they look sincerely happy to be there. Frank doesn’t know what they did to deserve a picture like this being taken, but he’s going to be infinitely grateful that someone had managed to capture it.

On the desk, next to Gerard’s phone, is a framed picture of him and Frank. Ray had taken this one, a couple months ago during their little celebration for Gerard’s birthday. They hadn’t done anything big, they’d gone out to dinner and then back to Ray’s apartment to drink and watch movies and be stupid together. Ray had insisted on hosting, _because it’s fun and I’m a good friend_ , he’d said, but Mikey had translated that into _no one wants to hang out in the basement, especially because we’re too aware of what the two of you do in there_. Gerard had meekly agreed to let Ray host, and Ray had proceeded to break out his new camera – he’s started getting more interested in photography lately, so all his friends have been trying to humor him – and take pictures for the entire night.

Most of the pictures had been awkward, considering they were all candid (“That’s part of their _charm_ ,” Ray had protested, the developed photos scattered across Ray’s kitchen table. Mikey had been pointing out how he’d had a chip halfway in his mouth in one of the pictures. Ray had refused to get rid of it.), but a few had turned out. One of them is the one currently placed on Gerard’s desk. Frank is sitting on the couch and is in the middle of saying something to Gerard, his hands clearly in the middle of moving around, as one of them is blurry. It must be something funny; Frank can’t remember what he’d been talking about when the picture was taken, but he’s smiling, so he’s assuming it was something that he’d found amusing. Gerard is sitting to his left, and Frank once again praises the merits of candid pictures when they catch Gerard in the middle of a laugh, because the way he looks in this picture makes Frank’s chest feel warm. Gerard’s feelings are so fucking obvious, the love he has for Frank written all over his face, and it’s almost overwhelming. Frank’s somewhat embarrassed of how stupid _he_ looks in the picture, but he thinks that maybe Gerard feels the same way about it that he does, just opposite. The way Frank feels is pretty obvious on his face, too.

Frank sits in Gerard’s little chair and looks around the office for a few minutes, taking in the personal touches, and then his attention is caught when Gerard shuts the notebook he’d been writing in and looks up at him.

“Okay, I’m good,” Gerard says. “Are you ready?”

Frank puts the plant down and stands up. “Always.”

“So,” Mikey says, then blows out the smoke, “how was your nooner?”

Frank rolls his eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“Well, you went all the way to the city, it’s the least he could do.”

Mikey doesn’t really want to hear about it – god, that’s the _opposite_ of what he wants – but he thinks it’s funny to see Frank try and delicately answer shit like that.

After a pause, Frank replies, looking like he’s trying not to laugh, “I’ve said this to him before, and I’m gonna say it to you now, but believe it or not, I do like Gerard for reasons other than sex.”

“I certainly fucking hope so,” Mikey says. He passes Frank the joint. “He has plenty of other redeeming qualities that I’d love to hear about in much more detail than anything else. Me and Ray, on the other hand?” Mikey nods sagely and deadpans, “Purely sexual. Nothing romantic about it.”

“What?” Ray says from the other room. “I heard my name.”

“Nothing,” Mikey calls. Frank laughs. “I’m telling Frank how much I love you. Everything about you.”

There’s a pause. Then, “He’s a liar!”

“I was being nice!”

Ray appears, a multitude of hangers still hooked over his forearm, clearly having been interrupted in the midst of hanging up laundry. “Frankie, whatever he’s telling you, it’s a lie.”

“He said your relationship was purely sexual,” Frank says, not hesitating to throw Mikey and his sarcasm under the bus. “So, I know he’s lying.”

Ray shakes his head, fighting a grin. “You’re pathological,” he says, pointing a hanger at Mikey.

“I adore you,” Mikey tells him, and Ray rolls his eyes and leaves.

“Is he hanging up _your_ laundry, too?” Frank teases. Mikey kicks him.

“At least I’m dating someone who _does_ laundry.”

Frank grimaces. “That’s fair. I’m gonna have to bother him about it this weekend.” He pauses, smokes, then passes the joint back to Mikey. “The receptionist at his office is in love with him.”

Mikey snorts. “Has he even noticed?”

“Dude, you know Gerard. Of course, he hasn’t. I made a joke about it and he said she was,” Frank pauses here to raise his fingers in air quotes, “ _just being nice_ , so.”

“To be fair, he thought the same thing about you.”

“Well,” Frank says, then stops to laugh a little bit. “We all know how that worked out.”

Gerard comes over to Ray’s after he’s done with work, and by that point, Mikey’s given up his spot to Ray and is now lying across the entirety of the couch, with his head in Ray’s lap and his feet on the armrest by Frank, who’s still on the other side, keeping him trapped there like a protective bar on a rollercoaster. Mikey supposes that it’s lucky that Ray has handed out keys to everyone by now, because no one on the couch would want to get up and let Gerard in if he had knocked.

“Hey,” Gerard says when he walks into the living room. He puts his bag down on the kitchen table and continues, “What’s going on here?”

“I’m trapped,” Frank replies. He tilts his face up when Gerard comes over and receives a kiss for his efforts. Mikey’s foot, conveniently in range, kicks Gerard.

“Ow,” Gerard says mildly, and knocks Mikey’s legs off the armrest.

Mikey lets them fall to the floor, and the turn of his body is enough to allow a small space for Gerard to fit onto the couch. Frank ends up half in his lap, which Mikey thinks is gross, but he doesn’t really have room to talk with Ray playing with his hair right now.

There’s small talk that Mikey doesn’t pay attention to, Frank saying disgusting things like _how was work_ and Gerard responding equally grossly with answers like _good, but I missed you_. Ray is quiet, asking questions every so often, but Mikey thinks the lingering effect of the joint Ray had smoked with them when he’d finished with his laundry had caused him to go into a contemplative mood, as he normally does.

“I heard,” Gerard says, after a few minutes of quiet, his arms wrapped around Frank, who’s absentmindedly twisting a lock of Gerard’s hair in his fingers, “Party City Pete’s moving away. He’s having a going-away thing tonight.”

Mikey can’t help it, he sighs massively. It’s almost involuntary at this point.

He props himself up on his elbows, then pushes himself into a fully sitting position, using Ray’s leg as something to brace himself on as he moves. “You _heard_? Where the fuck did you hear _that_?”

Gerard shrugs. “I needed printer paper yesterday. I stopped in to say hi.”

“Staples is _entirely_ across the parking lot from Party City,” Ray points out. “Wow, you really went out of your way.”

“Why didn’t you just steal paper from your office?” Mikey asks.

Gerard blushes. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t think about it. Second, you think they let us take _anything_ for free? I’d get caught and they’d get mad at me for daring to have office supply needs. Corporate America is full of stinginess.”

Frank, suddenly, as though he’d just thought of something, laughs and then tugs on the bit of Gerard’s hair that he’d been playing with. “Did you go to Party City because you still feel bad?”

“I mean…” Gerard’s scrunching up his face like he’s trying not to think about something. “A little?”

“That was _seven months ago_ , Gee, I bet he doesn’t even care anymore.”

Mikey blinks. “I’m… fucking lost, what are we talking about?”

Gerard opens his mouth, then closes it. Then, he says, “I don’t want to tell you about it.”

Mikey gestures wildly, eyes wide. “What the fuck, Gerard, you can’t just _talk_ about that and not tell me what it’s _about_!”

“PCP walked in on them one time at his house,” Ray says, and Mikey turns around sharply to stare at him. “I think it was… Christmas? Or sometime around then.”

“How the fuck did you know that?” Frank practically shouts, and Gerard winces.

“Babe, ow, that was right by my ear,” Gerard says.

“Sorry,” Frank whispers, then, in a slightly louder tone, continues, “Ray, what the fuck?”

Ray looks extremely surprised by this turn of events. “Dude, he told me after you guys got super obvious. That’s part of why he stopped trying to hang out with us. It felt weird.”

“Why did he tell you?” Mikey asks.

Ray shrugs. “I don’t know. I think I have one of those faces. People always tell me things.” He looks briefly, pointedly at Frank before continuing, “Plus, I think he thinks we have some sort of… solidarity or something. I don’t know why he thinks that, it’s not like Mikey’s uninterested in me, but…”

“Don’t brag,” Mikey says teasingly. “It’s unbecoming.”

Ray sticks out his tongue at Mikey in response.

Ray isn't quite sure how it happened, but before much more time has passed, they’re clambering into various cars and complaining about it and planning out approximately seven million stops before they head over to Party City Pete’s house. He supposes there isn't really a reason to call him Party City Pete anymore; according to Gerard, yesterday had been Pete’s last day at said Party City, so he’s just regular Pete.

“Aw,” Frank had practically cooed when Gerard had shared that information, “it’s the end of an era.”

They’ve been ending eras all over the place since January. Ray and Frank had both graduated, Ray immediately and somewhat fucking surprisingly jumping into pre-production for a film he’d written and was going to be directing. He’d gotten approved for a grant right before graduation, so he’s been working for the past few weeks on making arrangements for the cast and crew and shit, it’s fucking overwhelming but he loves it.

He’s busy all the time, so he’s gone a lot more during the day, and because of that, Mikey’s taken to spending days on end at Ray’s apartment. Ray hadn’t questioned it – he loves Mikey and he wouldn’t ask him to spend _less_ time there, so he’d just started clearing space for some of Mikey’s stuff and Mikey had wordlessly started to fill that space. It’s been a couple of weeks now, and Mikey’s pretty much halfway and unofficially moved in, and neither of them have felt the need to have a big conversation about it.

The most conversation that _had_ happened had been when Mikey had been sitting on the bed, reading a book that he’d _told_ Ray about but about which Ray had totally forgotten all the details, and Ray had been digging around in his dresser for _professional socks_ – he doesn’t know why he’d wanted professional socks, and what difference that would’ve made to the people auditioning for his film, but he’d been looking for them nonetheless.

“Hey,” Ray had said, turning around, and Mikey had looked up. “You’re over a lot, do you want to keep some stuff here? There’s more space in here than I know what to do with.”

Ray’s not an idiot. Despite the vehemence with which Mikey would deny it if asked, he and Gerard share several key personality traits, and one of them is an inability to easily discuss the emotions that make them feel vulnerable. Mikey, personally, likes to feel both wanted and independent, which means if Ray wants to do something nice for him, sometimes he has to frame it like it’s not a big deal.

Neither of them are ever fooled by this. Nevertheless, they had proceeded to pretend like there hadn’t been anything important behind what Ray had asked, and Mikey had started a migration of some of his things.

Mikey also pretends like he doesn’t sneak money from his Barnes and Noble paycheck into Ray’s wallet to cover the portion of the rent that he thinks he owes but that Ray wouldn’t ask him for, and Ray pretends he doesn’t notice.

Ray pretends he doesn’t notice lots of things, purely for the dignity of people involved. For example, he constantly pretends like he hasn’t seen Frank without at least one hickey since December. It’s not like Ray has anything against hickeys, he just knows how to place them a lot more discreetly.

This discreetness is something Ray is distinctly glad for, as they drive over to Pete’s house for, probably, the last time. He knows that Mikey and Pete were never _together_ , but Ray still feels slightly weird about showing up to the house of someone who had _obviously_ had feelings for the person he’s now dating and he thinks he’d feel even worse if there were any… physical signs of their relationship present.

It’s not like Mikey would care. He would wear that shit like a medal. He’s wearing the presence of Ray’s hand in his like a medal now, walking into Pete’s house like he owns it and has absolutely zero remorse for the emotional turmoil he’s caused here over the past however the fuck long it was.

Ray’s surrounded by people who don’t care about emotional turmoil caused in this house. Frank and Gerard, who had stopped at Gerard’s house so he could drop off his work stuff and change his clothes, arrive shortly after them, being incredibly embarrassing and hanging all over each other and not even finding their hosts before disappearing to do unspeakable things.

That’s not exactly true. They’re _speakable_ , and the things themselves aren’t _that_ bad, but Ray doesn’t want to think about them doing said things. He’s getting secondhand embarrassment – and probably hives – just at the thought of doing this shit after what happened last time.

God, he wishes Pete had never told him. Ray can’t piss in this house because of the mental image he gets every time he thinks about the stupid bathroom here.

He and Mikey mill around the party for a while, wandering through the rooms and making fun of people through raised eyebrows and suppressed laughs, rather than any real words, Ray holding a potted plant against his left side like how you’d balance a little kid on your hip.

He sort of feels that way about the plant. Ray likes plants, though he’s not particularly good at taking care of them. He hopes that Pete is, even though he doesn’t think giving a plant to someone as a parting gift is really enough to make up for all the shit that their group of friends has put Pete through.

It takes them a while to actually find Pete, which Ray has insisted on doing. If Mikey had had his way, they probably would’ve skipped the party altogether, and figured out something else to do on this Friday night, but everyone else had overruled him with the various benefits of going to Party City Pete’s house tonight.

They’d all offered a reason to go.

Frank: “Free drinks.”

Ray: “It’s always nice to end on a good note.”

Gerard: “Hasn’t he suffered enough? Maybe we should apologize.”

Eventually, Mikey had relented with a gusty sigh and a, “ _Fine_ , if it’s that important to you,” and they’d headed out before too much longer.

The summer air has cooled a bit, now that the sun has set, the leaves of the tree in the backyard swaying with a gentle rustling from a slow breeze. It’s under this tree that Ray spots Pete, and he squeezes Mikey’s hand lightly before starting to head over. Mikey groans and drags his feet like he’s four years old, but Ray is nothing if not committed to being a nice person, so he fucking feels obligated to go give a stupid plant to Party City Pete.

Pete sees them as Ray starts to walk over, and he raises a hand in greeting and says something that Ray can’t hear over the sounds of the party. Ray _would_ mirror the motion, but he has a plant in one hand and Mikey’s hand in his other, so he does his best to twitch the plant upwards in a vaguely upward way.

It doesn’t really work, and they’ve reached where Pete is sitting with a couple of people that Ray only vaguely recognizes before he’s able to truly indicate that he’d been returning the wave.

“Hey,” he says, instead, holding out the plant to Pete. “We got this for you.”

“We?” Mikey asks dryly, from somewhere behind and to the right as the people around Pete start to drift away. Ray doesn’t look at Mikey, but he does pinch his hand lightly in response.

“Oh!” Pete says, taking the plant. He examines it, almost reverently, then sets it to the side, standing up. “Thanks, Ray. What kind of plant is it?”

“Uh,” Ray begins, then stops, because he’s forgotten. “Uh, I don’t really know, but I asked the lady for something easy to take care of, and she said it can be kept inside and only needs water like, once a week or something. When the dirt is dry.”

“Cool,” Pete says, then grins and says again, “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” Ray replies. He suddenly feels stupid for bringing a gift – obviously no one else had, but fuck it, he’d felt badly enough for all the shit Pete’s gone through at the hands of Ray and his friends, it would be shit if they didn’t do _something_ for him, right? “I guess it’s a house… cooling… gift. Or housewarming for your… new house. Or something.”

“You’re cool, dude,” Pete says. “I’ll miss seeing you guys around.”

His eyes flick over to Mikey. Ray looks over his shoulder; Mikey’s still sort of lingering behind Ray.

Mikey sighs, and says, “Well… it sure was a time.”

He squeezes Ray’s hand before letting go and saying, “I’m gonna go get some drinks. I’ll be back.”

“I’m sorry,” Ray says almost immediately.

To his credit, Pete only watches Mikey walk away for a moment before replying, “Dude, no, you don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did he, it’s just – that’s the way it is.”

There’s a weird pause. “So,” Ray says, hoping desperately to fill the gap in the conversation, “Chicago, huh?”

“Yeah,” Pete replies, “I thought school here was going to work out, but something came up and my parents want me to come home. It’s cool, though, I’m transferring. Might start a band or something.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Ray asks. “That’s sick.”

They talk about music for a bit – Pete is a bit cooler than Ray had originally given him credit for, the blame for which he places on Mikey – and eventually are interrupted by Frank and Gerard coming over to them, looking distinctly disheveled, followed by Mikey, who has two drinks in hand.

“Hi, Pete,” Frank says, in a stupid sing-song voice, Gerard’s arm slung over his shoulders, and Ray is filled with both embarrassment and the intense urge to kick ass.

They talk for a little bit, and eventually Pete excuses himself to go and talk to some other people. Right as he leaves, Gerard says, “Hey, just – I’m sorry about… you know.”

Pete pauses, looking Gerard and subsequently Frank over, then laughs and says, “I mean, are you?” before heading off into the house.

Ray makes it a whole minute before he rounds on his friends. “What the _fuck_ ,” he hisses. “You’re disgusting.”

“Oh?” Frank asks. Fucking irritatingly, he’s holding Gerard’s hand where it’s loosely hanging over his shoulder, their fingers twined together.

“We are _guests_ in this young man’s home,” Ray begins, the words coming out of nowhere. Mikey laughs, but Ray ignores him. “We’re fucking _guests_ , and you’re _dunking_ on him for the millionth fucking time by having sex in his bathroom – _not for the first time, I might add_ – on the eve of his departure from the fucking state!”

Gerard laughs a little bit, but it’s stifled, so it comes out like a snort. “Why are you talking like an old-timey rich guy?”

“You sicken me,” Ray says, shaking his head. “You’re so embarrassing. Get your shit together. God, we might as well just leave.”

“Sorry, Ray,” Frank replies, extremely insincerely.

“I’m down to leave,” Mikey offers.

Ray sighs. “I don’t know why I expected anything else. Let’s go.”

Despite how irritated Ray got over the shit at the party, Gerard can’t bring himself to feel even slightly sorry for it.

Insufferable, incorrigible, _intolerable_ ; those are all adjectives that Ray had thrown at them as they’d left Pete’s house, adjectives that Frank had repeated in a teasing voice in the front seat of Gerard’s car, laughing between every word. Ray had been (still somewhat good-naturedly) irritated enough that he and Mikey had decided to go back to Ray’s, instead of hanging out, and partially because of this, Gerard knows he and Frank were stupid and inconsiderate at the party, but he doesn’t give a fuck.

It _was_ kind of an asshole move, but when they’d gotten to the house after stopping at Gerard’s, they’d _intended_ to go and find Pete and say goodbye while being polite, but Frank had walked a little slower as they’d passed the bathroom door. He hadn’t even had to say anything. Gerard had raised his eyebrows slightly and they’d fallen behind Mikey and Ray, and he’d actually locked the door this time.

Gerard doesn’t know if it’s weird to want to fall into these kinds of traditions, but fuck it, they had their first kiss in Party City Pete’s bathroom, so Gerard had thought that if he and Frank hadn’t taken advantage of their last opportunity to do it again, it would’ve been a waste. They’d spent enough time locked in there that it was obvious what was going on, saying stupid things to each other that Gerard would be embarrassed to repeat but that he’d felt with every fiber of his being, eventually coming out with messy hair and disheveled clothes and a red mark on Gerard’s neck that he’d known was going to turn into a bruise.

Now, Gerard has driven to the parking lot they’d gone to that one time when Frank had given him that mixtape, but the weather is a lot nicer now, so they’re sitting on the hood of Gerard’s car. It’s midnight, but they stopped to get coffee – a terrible idea, but out of all the vices they could be indulging in, Gerard thinks it’s the least offensive – and Frank extends the hand not holding his cup to poke at the mark on Gerard’s neck.

“Ha,” he says, grinning. “Nice.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “You know, that’s a little high up, someone’s gonna say something about it at work.”

“ _Ooh_ , I feel _so_ bad,” Frank teases. “What are you gonna say?”

“I’m dating a vampire.”

Frank laughs. “You’re one to talk! This is like, the one time I’ve ever given shit back to you this obviously. Have you _seen_ what I look like on a regular basis?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gerard says, somewhat slowly. “I know.”

“Fuck you.” Frank shoves him lightly. “You’re terrible.”

“You love me.”

“I do.” Frank’s tone is far more sincere than Gerard’s airy one, and at that, Gerard gets the feeling that he does a lot of the time. Like all of his feelings for Frank are thrumming through his veins, like if he isn't gross and blatant about how much he cares then Frank won’t remember, like he has to say something.

Gerard doesn’t have a particularly good track record with being quiet about _anything_ , especially around the people he loves, so he supposes the brief look of confusion Frank gives him when he says, “You make me never wanna shut up,” is warranted.

Frank, to his credit, rolls with it. “So don’t,” Frank says. The way he smiles at Gerard afterwards almost takes Gerard apart, so he looks away to compose himself slightly.

There’s movement in the sky above, a shadow fluttering around in the hazy yellow of the streetlight they’re under.

“Whoa,” Gerard says. “Look up.”

Frank, who had been in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee, brings his cup down before he does. The movement makes his shoulder brush against Gerard’s and Gerard, instead of following his own advice, turns to look at Frank.

The chain around Frank’s neck, housing his keys and the little _G_ charm, glitters slightly in the glow from the streetlight, and it catches Gerard’s eye as Frank tilts his head up towards the sky.

“What?” Frank asks, laughing a little. “It’s not like we can see the stars.”

Gerard has totally forgotten about what he’d mentioned before. He’s not even looking at the sky. “Oh,” he says, eyes on Frank, “I thought I saw a bat.”

Frank hums a little. “You’re weird,” he says, but he reaches for Gerard’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’m glad I met you.”

It’s such a simple statement. Gerard thinks that, coming from anyone else, he’d consider it an understatement for how they are around each other, for what they mean to each other now. _I’m glad I met you_ seems like something you’d say to someone after a short time hanging out, not to what you’d say to someone who you think might be your _person_ and who you’ve started being unable to imagine your future without.

Coming from Frank, though, it makes sense. It’s more than enough. Gerard moves his thumb back and forth on the back of Frank’s hand, a soothing little motion that he always tries to use as a way to say _I’m here_.

“I know how you feel,” Gerard says, and he also knows he doesn’t have to elaborate. It’s like it always has been. They understand each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you <3 i love you <3 more staplesverse coming soon <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] that was easy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433421) by [giveemhellkidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giveemhellkidd/pseuds/giveemhellkidd)




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